There are people in the house. I am standing in an open room with them. It’s more a platform than a room. It’s almost like a stage. And it’s almost like we’re dancing, though we’re not dancing, but that’s the energy of it. I’m not sure if they are strangers or not. It seems as if I might know them or at least I know who they are. They’re dangerous. I’m not sure what they want, but I just saw them pull out my brother’s teeth. Then then reached inside my mother’s mouth and tried to pull her teeth, too.

I have managed to get the only knife in the house. It occurs to me that I have to keep this knife from them. I have to kill them, too. I stab two of them twice each. But I can not bring myself to stab deeply enough. I decide that I need a gun to kill them. I have sent someone out to get a gun for me.

While she is gone, I hide the only knife in the house. I can’t seem to use it but I don’t want it used on me either. Time is passing and the atmosphere of the house is changing. The intruders seem to be getting along better with everyone in the house. I’m not sure if the animosity is passing or if they’re just playing nice until they can find the knives. The intruders are passing out party invitations. One smiles at me as I tuck the knife away. It’s a long knife, about ten inches long, and I have it wrapped in an old towel. I have the feeling that these men are waiting for their opportunity to grab the knife.

The girl I’d sent out brings back a strange gun. The gun is more like a tap recorder than anything else. It’s a box-like device, with something like a speaker that we have to assemble. The girl puts a film over the top of the speaker and secures it with a rubber band as I examine a metal cartridge that looks like a small and long tape cassette. I am upset with the girl for bringing back a gun that’s so confusing and one that we can not immediately use. She’s insists it was the best option and is trying to figure out how to assemble it. I decide this will never work and that we need to go out for another gun or hire someone to kill these intruders. We leave the house.

I’m at Anna’s house now. I’m staying there and feeling tired. I go to her room and find two beds. One is taken by Anna and the other is taken by another girl. I ask in a joking tone who wants to share with me. Anna says that I’ll have to sleep on the floor. I respond by asking where the nearest hotel is. I say I don’t sleep on floors anymore. Anna relents and shows me into an adjoining room. There is an empty bed in this room that I am able to use.

I wake up early and leave. I’m on a bike with Rebekah. We are going somewhere and I take a wrong turn that leads us down a somewhat steep dirt path and into a ditch. I don’t have the strength to pedal us back up. I make Rebekah get off the bike so that we can both walk it back up. She is momentarily annoyed but soon we’re back on our way. We go over bridges and I notice train tracks. Between each track is a single stalk of corn. I wonder who has planted the corn like this and why. I am back at the house before anyone wakes, and surprised to find that it has been early morning.

My aunt is at the house now. She is trying to help me suspend some puppets from a pulley system in front of the window. I want to use the puppets to practice my figure drawing. The pulley suspension doesn’t work though and we give up. Later in the day, I am back in the room and my mother is there. She gives me a black mattress pad to put under the sheets. She says that it is meant to alleviate the pain of hemorrhoids. She goes to the right side of the bed and pulls her side of the mattress pad over the mattress easily. I struggle and get frustrated with my mother because it initially seems like something she’s doing is making this more difficult for me. I finally get my side of the mattress pad over the mattress, and my mother comments that the pad doesn’t work very well. She says that she and my father have used it before and she hasn’t even been able to tell it was there. She helps me suspend the puppet, which is now a small tile-like wooden square, in front of the window. It is suspended too high but stays in place. My aunt walks in.

I notice a newspaper clipping framed on the wall. It’s a photo and story about the “Blonde Phenomenon”. The photo is a junior high school class. The students are sitting at their desks. All the girls are blonde, except two brunets who look slightly embarrassed and miserable.

I can’t remember how it started. There was some weirdness in the beginning too, but I can’t remember it. I wish I could remember the beginning actually. But what winds up happening is this: I’m running around with this little kid who is like a younger, maybe two-year-old version of myself. I’m helping him hide from my father. I show him a place he can hide in my old bedroom closet. He goes in there. And then I go to sort of confront my father about something. I don’t find my father and when I go back to the closet, I don’t find the little boy either. He’s gone and I think maybe he has his own hiding place that he’s gone off to. I wander down the hall, and find him in the bathroom with my father. Somehow my father is about to punish him. This is why my father has been searching for the little boy and why I’ve been helping the little boy hide. And here’s the weirdest part: I find my father in the bathroom with the little boy and he's putting butter on the little boy’s naked ass. And he has a box of macaroni and cheese mix. My father is about to do something to the boy that involves macaroni and cheese mix on his ass. And he wants me to join in. I confront him, telling him what a sick motherfucker he is, etc. It’s all this rage about don’t you see how fucked up you are? and so on. But my father looks at me blankly; he clearly doesn’t get it and he won’t stop. I woke up this morning feeling nauseous and not sure what to make of it all.

I am somewhere with my family. I am in a room and all the clothes I had packed are laid out on the bed. The is a young couple in the room, a man and a woman. The young man is pointing at my folded underwear, touching them and saying something to the woman. I like that he is touching my folded underwear, and want to hear his voice. I ask him what he is saying. He tells me he is saying that these are good underwear, that they don't make underwear like this anymore. I realize he is correct, and tell him so. I look at my underwear, which seem to be mostly in shades of fuschia and woven like boxer briefs. I notice that there is something stuck to the fabric. It's like tiny stones have formed along the front of the underwear, as if the underwear had been washed in mineral-heavy water and bits of calcium had hardened along the woven fabric. I try to pick the stones out of my best underwear, but notice that it leaves the bright fuschias faded and discolored. I wonder whether the stones have always been there, or if it's my mother's washing machine and the local water to blame.