I have something wrong, though not dreadfully. I am given documents and pills which she makes no attempt to concern herself with the problem of transporting. Joey has insulted her, I guess, in his inimitable cynical impatience.
I use envelopes for forms to scrape pills into. I move off. I sit in another seat in front of yet another desk, but do not speak to anyone. Joey says, I'm going on ahead. He does. I never see Joey in this dream; he's behind or gone.
So I'm told the next office is through the large open double doors and right next door. It isn't, of course.
I don't know how to find Joey now, which seems most important. I wander far and wide. I understand somehow there's no use in asking anyone. They will probably all say, it's right next door, and it never is.
Here is a large yard, like where they rent backhoes. I am walking from the back grounds when a worker on stand-on forklift approaches the boss, says, "The one number two in the lot was here last year, and took two shovels." It's a warning to do no business with that one.
I happen to be carrying two implements. I'm glad to see one of them is not a shovel. I only mean to deposit them at the front door, and do so. I have found them lying around. I'm just helping.
Why did I not remember when I was near home the address book. It has Joey's cell phone number. I must go back there.
But I'm now in the corridors of the hospital. What is wrong with me is serious, though I do not know what it is. Some specialist has shown me ducts of conduit through my innards, and here is shading which might better be clear. That's all.
A politician from the land where I live now is just ahead of me along the hallway, and he, too, heads into the john. (This is the part of the dream just before waking. Or, just before the time when I'd better awaken.) He sees ahead of me the room is full, and turns away, as do I, as though it's only a habit or inclination moving us to that room.
Me 'n Reloj, the NerdNosh Seat, Soda Canyon, Mesa Verde, CO, 1995