In the dream, I’m with Fifi Levi-Levi, the defunct wife of the
feckless principal of my defunct middle school, and a group of her
students. They’re itinerant practitioners of some kind of progressive
pedagogical method. I’m not sure if I’m part of the entourage or simply
meet up with them.
I forget what health concern prompts me to visit the doctor. He
tells me I will need a regimen of shots in the delicate webbing between
my fingers. I’m afraid that this will be painful but it turns out not
to be. However, I leave concerned that I may not be able to administer
these shots to myself.
I return to my abode, which in this dream, as in real life, is a
rented room. But this one is not so meager–an ample, brightly lit
place with white walls. My lease says two other people have paid for
access to this room–I think one of them is Jason, the best philosopher I’ve met
in my age group (apart from the Ice Queen). There’s no sign of them,
though and everything in the room seems to be designed for one person.
Despite its brightness, there’s not much window space in this
room. In fact, the window is just a narrow horizontal pane high up on
the wall. I decide to slide it open, but some unwelcome fauna–I
believe it’s some kind of bird–takes advantage of this to try to get
in. I think I’m worried about its uncleanliness. This happens a couple
of times and I realize I won’t be able to leave the window open.