At a tennis match. I’m on one side of the court. Bright early afternoon. Monica Seles is playing, but I’m switching vantages between spectator, camera, and Monica. I also hear the ubiquitous mumblings of the commentators in the background. The court is deep green, and she’s wearing white – everyone seems to be wearing white. As Monica, I feel the tension of the match. I don’t have a clear picture of the opponent; I am mainly concentrating on getting the ball over the net.
I’m in a bed with J. It’s morning. We’re just getting up. At one point he rolls over to my side of the bed, and I’m a little cramped for space. He says that he forgot that I was there. I get up to brush my teeth. The toothpaste is black. I show him, but he doesn’t take much notice.
In a well-lit bathroom with Fr. Harold L., and his wife. I want to go out of the bathroom to get some water, but something or someone is preventing me. Harold’s wife gets the water for me. I can leave the bathroom now, and go out.
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