In my dream rows of desks are laid out in preparation for the written test. The light is dim and I pace around unworried.

In my dream I forage enough scrap wood to build a small box to carry four wine bottles. I find no water and no unspoiled food. I contemplate using the box as a seat but fear breaking it. I turn it over and over.

In my dream I am hosting a 90s tribute show with TLC. We enter the set to a mashup of “Creep” and “Le Freak (c’est chic)”.

In my dream I receive the cheese I ordered from the collective. It’s eight different kinds but in such small quantities that the shavings barely make an ounce when heaped together in my palm.

In my dream the four year old is dressed in black and running around happily. I try to keep an eye on where they are in relation to the curb, even though I don’t really see any traffic.

In my dream the plans for the dress are rolled up and hidden under my clothes. Now all I have to do is make my way down through all the flat white floors of the building to escape.

In my dream I point out that my student assistant has covered all of my work surfaces with their homework projects, which triggers  protests and a chase across the entire campus.

In my dream the game’s taffeta dress attracts five coins every time it’s on.

In my dream Phil has lost his keys in the warehouse. In a soothing gesture I suggest we get noodles for dinner. Then he is Lauren and we are at the library on 81st. She asks me if I have a copy of Altman’s Buffalo Bill. I do, but I put it in storage somewhere. There is a men’s bathhouse in the basement.

In my dream I trudge through the downtown queues of  J and R to pay for the equipment I had ordered. I see the back of Phil’s head in the distance. My legs feel thick. Later her son portions out dabs of meat warm lumpia.