belonging & not belonging

it was the most beautiful, wonderful, perfect dream. I went back to art school of a sort– it was full of people who’d been studying and doing design– kind of like penland– and I was afraid my pipe dream was about to go up in smoke– but until that happened, it was glorious– it was like a community of all my favorite creative women– all my former art teachers were there– it was like coming home.

dreamed I was back at liggett after having been away– I was late for class because I couldn’t find my schedule, and then I couldn’t find my locker– but there was a basket of my clean laundry right in front of it. I opened the locker and grabbed the schedule, hurrying because I was so late– and I hadn’t studied at all. I was afraid I had english or french because we were having tests and I hadn’t studied in ages. I rushed to the math class in a big lecture hall and had to just go in– sat down near the front by the door, by a girl who seemed like a stereotypical loser (her clothes weren’t up to snuff and she was black and shy) and a big man in a wheelchair, clearly a guest– he was listening quietly to the preamble and first class bits– I had my notebook poised and was studiously not looking at the other students, some of whom might have been able to recognize me after all this time because of my hair. then the teacher turned to the man in the wheelchair and an anecdotal history session began, and somehow I got pulled into it and felt conspicuous and embarassed.

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