::fragments::

--a rabbit that was not mine, but belonged to the owner of the house in which there was a party, that I kept trying to capture to put into a room because I feared for it running loose around the many-storied house with so many strangers in it.

--the rabbit had an elongated neck. About 1-2 feet long. I tried to not get sidetracked by that.

--a photo on a black and white tabloid that showed many people, famous people, with suddenly elongated necks

--Chris H. nearby. Me telling him from across a room that I am attracted to him and why did I need to hide it. Me, making faces as I said such things, nose crinkling, trying not to laugh or cry.

--Pat, in a tub of water with all of his clothes on.

--me, leaning in and whispering, I love you, Pat, and he whispering, I love you, Wendy.

I was in Portland, and went to school everyday, and Michael Moore was my professor. We saw each other at a bus stop on my way to school one morning. When I showed up late for a test, he came over to my desk and showed me the many-paged exam with lots of his pen marks on it and told me I was late and he didn't know if I could finish the test. I looked up at him and told him that he knew I was late because they had surrounded the bus stop I always left from with orange cones and the bus was late, making my trip to school two hours. He put the exam on my desk and let me take it.

On another day, I was carrying a large backpack, the one I take traveling, and in it was my light blue uniform from Catholic school. I had to change into it and did, covertly, for Michael Moore's class.

Later, I was carrying a bomb. It looked like a car battery, only instead of a digital readout showing the countdown, it was like an old fashioned gas station readout: numbers that rolled into the next number. I knew that I had about 4 minutes to place the bomb somewhere where it could safely go off and not hurt anyone. I wasted about 90 seconds trying to figure out where to take it. I jumped into a strange non-motorized vehicle and drove off. The landscape looked like Olympia, along with the weather--gray, cloudy. I found an elementary school set back in the woods. I simply walked right through the classrooms to the backyard, past the playground, where I spotted a deep marsh. I knew it would be best to leave the bomb there and let it create a sinkhole and avoid taking any lives or exploding violently. I left it in the marsh and mud and walked quickly back through the classrooms. I noticed teachers eyeing me, and as I moved to exit I knocked over someone's glass of iced tea. Sorry, I said, and left the building.

Night before last: I had a serious cut in the very bottom of my foot. I didn't even know it until I noticed, as I was walking down the carpeted stairs of an unfamiliar house, that I was leaving a trail of blood. The blood was thick and there was lots of it. I sat down in a chair and looked at the bottom of my foot. In the most tender part was a long cut, a gash, and the blood wouldn't stop flowing.

A woman...poet Sharon Olds?? helped me clean up the cut. She was very mothering to me. I acted dramatically as she cleaned it up, grimacing and squealing with the feel of the liquid she used stinging my open wound

Last night: I was staying with Pat. His house was one I'd never seen before. He was busy with his large group of friends. I wandered around trying to find a plastic bag for my dirty clothes. I had my backpack and wanted to repack my clothes. He took me aside and told me I didn't have to pay rent to him for the time I stayed with him. I nervously agreed. He seemed very content and happy in this new life he was leading, with people I didn't know.

A room of kittens and rabbits. They were all underfoot, and their fur was soft.

Night before last: something about being held under my armpits and being lifted up and down, in a dunking fashion, only there was no pain.

I was married to an unfamiliar man last night who was convinced--and trying to convince me--that our adolescent son was Jesus.

My husband was somewhat stocky, stout, and blonde and he didn't seem crazy, though I wondered. My son was lean, tall, had blonde hair and was clearly popular. My husband wanted him to not listen to music, though it was apparent our son had a proclivity towards music--making it, and listening to it. I saw my son surrounded by his friends, and yes, he gave off a nice aura, but he was Jesus? My husband tried to keep music away from our son and I finally confronted him, pleasantly, on Hollywood Blvd. near Highland. I tried to reason with him, Okay, you think our son is Jesus? Yes, he replied. Then that means I'm the mother of Jesus and I am a virgin? And I can't have sex? No, I cannot accept that. And I left it at that.

Next scene: a theme park I have never seen before. It seemed to revolve around cartoon characters. The theme park workers were getting drunk and acting crazy in general and I thought it was a little unusual and wondered if they feared any of their bosses coming across that. Then, a "log jam" kind of ride, with water and chutes and little water-vehicles slipping and sliding. I watched fthe splashing and movement from nearby.

I drove 24 hours to get to Olympia. I stood in the aisle of a store where Pat worked (never seen this place before...) and said, Hi, I drove the 24 hours so I can just come say hi.

After awhile I remembered I had to work the next day, and so there was not enough time to drive all the way back. Why did I do that? Low grade panic set in. I made excuses to myself in my head and decided I'd just have to take the day off and leave soon. I was amazed at myself that I drove 24 hours straight.

Last night: I was in the office of a new drycleaning business. They required customers to write down all of their information, including emergency contact info. I was a little perplexed, but then they also gave you a stack of interesting brochures for being a customer. One brochure was titled Outlaw Planet, but when I looked again, it read Outlaw Street.

Pat was with me and I asked him what his cell phone number was, because I was putting him down as my emergency contact. He told me, 1-800-TREE-2.

Two nights ago: I had fallen on some glass and somehow a piece of glass had lodged under the skin near my right hipbone, though there was no torn skin. I could just feel the hard nub of glass under my skin, and I kept touching it with my finger. Someone was supposed to help me remove it, but no one ever did.