It's next semester, and I go to one of my classes called "Bailey", which supposedly covers the poetry of Canada's French provinces. The class is in a long room with many tables, and most of the students are already there. I see Aaron W. sitting next to a window by himself. He has a bandana tied around his head and looks much thinner that I remember him. Suddenly we're in a small square room of a house that has no furniture. The room has a grey/blue carpet, and all the students are sprawled out on the floor. Our professor is a woman sitting on the floor with us. She's taking us through some mental exercise in which we each focus on ourselves. I'm laying on my back, but my knees are up (the soles of my feet on the floor). Somehow the exercise is making me think of how unhappy I am with my body. We stop and stand up, forming a circle. We are all holding hands, and there's a very large fat girl on my left. For a moment I think we're going to have to go around the circle and say something about the people on either side of us. I decide that if I have to say something about the girl on my left, I'll say that she's fat but that I still love her because she's a wonderful person. Yet I then realize that we are going around the circle sharing what the experience was like for ourselves. The professor says a few things, and so do a couple other students before it's my turn. I say that I've always tried to "avert from the stereotypical standards of society" but still look at myself critically. I'm trying to express how I feel bound by society's ideal images of women, etc., but some of the students have gotten up from the circle and are walking in and out of the room, which is distracting for me. I feel like nobody's listening to me (except for Amber F-J., who is focusing on me, laying on her side at the back of the room against the wall). The students who have gotten up are going into the kitchen, carrying back oddly shaped utensils. I try to wait until they sit down so I won't be interrupted, but I see that's not possible, so I just finish up. I end by saying that I realize I can't go through life without somehow being shaped by the ideals of our society. I illustrate this with a gesture: my hands are parallel to each other (palms facing each other) and perpendicular to my body; I'm moving them in a sweeping motion away from my body, like railroad tracks. Then I start to make the straight motion wavy, showing how I'm affected by outside forces. I notice one of the students -- a young man with blond hair -- has brought back a big bong from the professor's kitchen. He's now sitting on my left, and he puts his lips to the top of the pipe and sucks to clear out the passage. The bong is clear glass with bubbling water inside. I realize that everyone has been focusing more on his activities than what I've been saying. I look over at the professor, and she's now sipping a large glass of dark red wine (as some other students are also doing). The prof has blond, shoulder-length hair and is in her late 40s. She's wearing lipstick that's now coming off. I see that we all may smoke up together.
NEXT, I'm in a store, and there are lots of people my age here (esp. Swatties). Jessica F. comes up to me and urges me to go check out some great dresses. She tells me that there's a special deal that if you buy 2 of them you get another one for free. I go look. I see boxes of dresses in all different colors but the same simple cut. The fabric is rough, almost like a potato sack. I try one on right there in the store, stripping down to my underwear and bra. I pull on a light yellow dress, which fits well. I go over to a full-length mirror and like how it looks. The fabric doesn't feel rough against my skin. As I walk away from the mirror, I realize that my body feels the same to me in a dream as it does when I'm high on pot. I can only slightly feel my legs as I walk. I go to look at some other dresses. I see a sign on the ceiling above the boxes, but it's almost too faded to read. It says that you have to buy 13 dresses before you get another one for free. Jessica was mistaken. I ask a store clerk if that's true, and she says yes, 13 dresses. I ask if there are any favors I can do for her to give me a special deal. She thinks for a moment and then tells me that I can warm up her lighter for her when she gets back (she's going to take a break with a friend and seems to be carrying some drug paraphanelia). I look at the price tag of a dress: $49.95. That seems way too spendy. I take off my dress and try on another one. I see Megan working here. We say hello to each other. A large girl (from the poetry class?) sees me and asks how my massage was. Fine, I say. Then she asks me what I think of the movie, "Roger and I". A good documentary, I say.
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