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I remember barely anything but I thought a few notes would be in the right spirit:

There was something about a parting of ways between two guys who were discussing the sexuality, which had been in question, of one of them.  There was a “dorky” girl in attendance, who seemed to be a few years younger than the two guys by a few years.  The guys themselves seemed about mid/late teenaged.  The one had recently been in a relationship with a woman, but had left her, but I could be wrong about that.  It was also a question that the two guys might be in for a relationship with each other in the future?  The girl expressed interest in having a romantic/sexual relationship with the one guy also, but respected that his sexuality seemed to presently bear the “homosexual label”.  She didn’t seem to be too disheartened by that, either way.

I also recall being in a kind of theatre house, and wanted to watch the plays that were being put on by very young actors.  Macbeth was just on, and they were about to show a new play, starting with “Sh”.  The costumes were all green and gold and medieval-seeming.  The opening scene had a girl come across the stage and open with a sung, introductory monologue sort of thing.  The stage itself was not elevated, but instead seemed to be a converted hotel-lobby that had wooden floors, pillars, all in warm tones.  There was something very interesting about the paneling, too, that seemed to be installed for effect: depending on the way the light shined (or wind blew?) across the various surfaces of the panels, walls and other similar objects on the stage, they would all flash brightly.  Julia was nearby and wanted to go, although I wanted to stay.

Another disjointed memory has me in my kitchen, sitting with Julia, up on the counter beside my sink.  We are smoking a combination of marijuana and “Christmas”-herbs, such as perhaps myrrh.  She asks me how much I would like of each, and I remember asking for more myrrh.  Someone was about to come inside the apartment, or they had already.

Yet another totally disjointed memory: I am riding in a car and am close to the window, which looks out over the sky, many black trees, and flat land which is full of puddles or other shallow bodies of water.  It seems as if I am driving fast, away from civilization.  The window seems cold and has condensation on it.  I am otherwise glued to the sky: it is light, but seems like the day is ending.  The clouds are in an interesting formation; it is as though there are two holograms being projected onto each other; one part of the formation is dark grey, and seems like its in the shape of a country (like Canada or something), and the other formation is like it is made of floating shards of pink glass.  I believe my mother might have been driving.  There was darkness all behind me.

When I got to my destination, the car pulled up in front of a sort of store or something, but I felt like I was high up in the mountains.  It seemed cold and wet outside, but it was not raining, and it was still in the daytime.  It was clear to me that I was about to wait in the back of the car while my mother did something elsewhere.  She poked her head in and thrust a gift at me, for myself and Julia actually; it was a pillow in plastic wrapping.  I’m not sure how I got out of the car, but there is something that happened next in which I was very high off the ground, perhaps in some kind of clock tower, or similar-shaped tower.

And then, of one of my last dreams, I only recall a final image: it was an older Hinata, who is a character from a Japanese series, and she was being addressed by a formal panel of educators in her village.  Her hair was long, straight and black.  The particular style of fighting she used was unique to her, and because she had used it so well or used it to some suddenly-relevant advantage, she was being formally designated as the new teacher of the fighting style in the village.

As I was waking up, I was thinking about a card I had made for someone.  There was a tree on the front, and inside, there was a critique of the card, as if I had submitted it to a teacher.  The critique described the card, which was for a girl, as being evidently by a young man.  It mentioned that there was an air of sadness to the card.  They also commented on the tree as being a symbol, “something to always hang onto”, “sinewy”, etc.  The notes finished off with a remark about being a little too analytical in their critique.

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