Partial email to Maria.

I had a dream this morning. I was on Delancey, but way east. I decided to go see if that bar you used to work at was still there. I walked past streets with long, multi-word names, and then a cemetery that was a few blocks long. I got to where the bar was, but it was suddenly your apartment. No one was home, but I guess the door was unlocked, and I went inside. I decided to take a nap. I think I slept for about an hour, then realized I should probably get out of there because if would be really weird if I got caught taking a nap in your bed, especially if Danny showed up. Then I though to myself that I was kinda like Goldielocks. I think I'm gonna put this email in my blog. Except for the first part.

God doesn't want me to make a guitar.

Between wood infested with beetles, the most warped plywood ever sold, and a package delivered to me with various pieces of hardware literally falling out of it when the postman handed it to me, all I can think is it was not meant to be. This box made it to me with about 30% of its original contents still inside. I'm pretty much done with mail of any kind. Guess I really need to get a driver's license now.
I thought about asking the pastors of the church where I work if god wanted me to make a guitar, but they seem like good people, and don't need me mocking everything they believe in. I also could have asked my exterminator.
Once a month, he hangs out in my kitchen and tells me all the stuff in the world that worries him, while he sprays poison in all the cracks. This week, he started telling me about Our Lady of Fatima, a vision of the Virgin Mary that was said to have appeared to three shepherd children at Fatima Portugal in 1917. He looked through a stack of religious tracts pulled from his Corrections Officer jacket, but he couldn't find one for me. I wondered if he was spraying a brainwashing agent around my apartment that would convert me, but when I went to work the next morning's church service, I still didn't believe.

Loss-of-control dream.

I was helping Sara record something. Then there was this winding, outdoor stairway/labyrinth. It had different mosaic and painted tiles imbedded in each step. This old guy was leading me through it, but I decided to get out. It wasn't easy because there were these false exits and deceptive paths. There was something about watching old REM and U2 live shows on youtube. I was really tired. I had to wake in about an hour for work. I went to bed, and set my alarm for an hour later. Something woke me up, and my clock said I had an extra hour to sleep. No one could tell me what time it was. I kept asking people, and even asked if there was a daylight savings time change that suddenly gave me an extra hour. I looked at the shelves in my room, and wondered who put them up. I thought Suzanne put them up when we were going out. There were weird lamps in my room. The ladies I was hanging out with earlier showed up at the apartment. The apartment was like a village, both indoors and outdoors simultaneously. I hoped one of them would come join me. This guy walked into my bathroom, which I can see from my bed, and said he just needed to take a piss, but he just walked in and out, and then into my room. He sat down on a dresser or something, and said, "so this is the kitchen..." I told him it wasn't the kitchen, but he kept on rambling. I realized he actually lived in the neighborhood his whole life, and was making parallels between his apartment and mine, or how he remembered my apartment was a long time ago.