And dreamed the house my sibs and I lived in- no place I can identify- and its narrow garden, grey in the March melt or maybe the June rains, had been taken over by some large animal whose genus I ought to remember but can't. It pooped a lot, though, and I had to clean it off my Birkenstocks while a Japanese visiting student promised to bring in his ms. Then there was a Japanese pop singer on her motorbike, giving a ride to her pop star boyfriend while I tried to keep the backlights on my bike carrier. I was in Japan by then and had found my old Wani bike, but had the same trouble with the back carrier, until I rode it into the dining room of a Nakano hotel where all the Pre-school staff were at dinner with a bunch of people. They'd been invited to visit one Nichole, once a kid at the daycare, now grown out of recognition. The streets being dark now I figured I couldn't bike to where I was going any more; it was too late for trains, the Nakano station (nothing like itself) all dark. I tried calling Jean on the pay phone to see if I could stay with her, but the buttons would only offer certain combinations of numbers which didn't match those of her home number. I'd hoped to hitch a ride with Nichole's party but there were too many people so I said casually that I'd find a love hotel and spend the night there: 'you only need to brazen it out when you first walk in', I said more cheerfully than I felt.
My dreams do turn into frustration ones on a regular basis, but this wasn't high frustration, just 'what a bother.'
