sleeping under the stars
I'm on top of the flat roof of some building at nighttime. Phoebe is with me. We are spreading out mattresses and blankets in order to sleep here. M. is somehow involved.
NEXT, I'm standing at a big sink filled with sudsy water. I am washing dishes with Granddaddy, scrubbing pots and bowls while he rinses. It is part of a big cleanup with a big group of people; we are all cleaning a house after some event, putting it back in order. Then, I look over and see people standing in short lines. There are eleven little lines right next each other, with several people in each one. I see that each line is behind a big letter. Together, everyone spells out a big word: REALIZATION. I see that one of the letters does not have anyone behind it; when I look closer I some of my stuff -- my black backpack and my black art portfolio. I wonder if I am supposed to be there (behind the letter, in the line)? Are my belongings supposed to represent me?
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