9:00 AM: The Cursed Breadcrumbs
I am at work, although the building seems more like a middle school. I have turned in a paperwork form to Joanna, requesting a day of vacation; apparently, though, it is the rehearsal date for something we’re presenting. What I have to do for the presentation is read through the text of a play; I think that it’s something that I could practice on my own, but Joanna thinks that I need to be there for it. It’s very frustrating to me; I don’t remember what I wanted to do with the vacation day, but it was important to me. She has the vacation request form, along with some other paperwork, in her hand, and she’s standing in the door of her office talking to me. My request is filled out in red ink on the printed form.
I get frustrated, I tell her fine, I’ll stay and read through the play. Then I sulk off to go outside and cool off… but I don’t walk, I fly. I sort of lean forward, so that my feet are off the ground but I’m not quite lying flat, and use my hands to propel me – whichever way I point my palms, I go the other way. They’re acting almost like repeller beams – I’m not moving them, but some sort of energy pushes me forward. When I cup my hands, it speeds up; flattening them slows it down.
I go outside, and I look around. I remember seeing some exhibit stuff – one has a feather, looks like a hawk’s feather – the label says, “Feather, An – Unidentified.” There are kids at play outside here. I am sitting cross-legged in midair, as if I were meditating on the floor. I see Joanna through the window; she smiles and waves, as if glad to see me; I am still angry with her about the vacation thing, and I turn my palms downward and float up so that I’m out of her field of view.
I have several slices of bread, and I take them over to a big flowering almond tree, and float up beside the tree, and set the slices of bread in the air about 10′ off the ground. I turn them as I set them down, and they just hang there, gently spinning. I think it’s supposed to infuse them with almond blossom, or something. I set them in a circle around the tree.
I go back inside. Joanna comes out with two slices of toast, and hands them to me. I think she thought I was making some sort of sun-toast with the bread, and she has made these for me. I take them and say thank you, and she goes back inside. I start to throw them away, but then a spiteful thought comes to me, and I start to crumble them into crumbs – they look more like cake crumbs than bread crumbs, and it makes a LOT of crumbs – like enough for a whole loaf of bread. I start spreading them on the ground, and singing a little curse over them – something about “Whoever eats, shall never speak, only weep, only weep…” again and again. I know that the pigeons will eat them, and cry unrelentingly. I don’t know why this seems like a good idea at the time.