13 March, 1996 8:59:00 PM A friend of mine called the other night to say she'd had a dream about me the night before. In this dream she walking around Central Park with a friend, and in her arms she was carrying a chicken. It was some kind of Prize Chicken. As she and her friend (and the chicken) walked through the park, they saw another woman (a mutual acquaintance of ours) who I used to know but who won't talk to me any more. This woman also had a chicken, though there was no indication that it was any kind of a Special One. As they all walked through the park, they came to 5th Avenue, and there was a parade marching past. I was in the parade, sitting on some kind of float. As the parade passed them, it trampled the chicken which belonged to that woman who I used to know but who won't talk to me any more. The other, Prize Chicken was not hurt. She told me this dream again this afternoon, and it's a slightly different account. This time, the parade is going through the Sheep Meadow in Central Park, and I'm not in it. I'm standing somewhere in the meadow waiting for the parade to pass. I had a dream last night that I was driving from somewhere in Tennessee to Chicago. I don't remember where in Tennessee, but probably Kingsport (my father's hometown). I was driving in his car, which was quite old and could barely move. There were parts of the engine falling about the road. He had given it to me especially for this drive to Chicago. I stayed at a motel, which appeared to be made of several old trailers all stuck together. My room was on the 1st floor, second room on the left of the only hallway. There were 3 rooms on the right side. One of them, it turned out, was a restaurant, or a bar of some sort; that room was cavernously shaped, while the others were square. I sat in my room talking to some of the other people who were staying at the motel, one of whom happened to be Catherine, and I looked out the window to see that something near my car "dad's car" was burning. When I looked up and saw the fires, a stationwagon drove away from the flames. I was able to move the car away from the fire before it was burned too severely, and somehow I was able to prevent the fire from spreading at all. It was a huge garbage bag which had gone up into flames. When the flames had settled, I looked through the bags contents (strewn about the road). In that garbage bag was a blue jacket my aunt gave me in college, and which I've worn for most of this past winter. The jacket had a giant, burnt puncture in it, from which I and the others there at the motel concluded that the people in the stationwagon had set the fire by thrusting a giant, flaming spear into the garbage bag. We all responded as if this was a common thing, gangs cruising around with big flaming spears in their cars. I called dad, and told him I'd bring the car back and get a rental from Hertz. If I rented a new car, my logic went, I would not have to drive all the way to Chicago using decrepit backstreets, but instead I could use the interstates. I'm so tired right now I can barely see straight. But I'm feeling that rush of adrenaline that occurs when I'm too tired to do anything and also aware that I'm up way past my time. The big red splotch in this map is where the fire was. It looks like a blood spot, but there was no murder. The dotted line represents my line of vision from the motel room to the fire.