What Dreams May Come
The arc of my dream is always the same, no matter what: I am late to teach a class, and when I arrive there is chaos. Students are shouting, throwing balled-up pieces of paper at one another, laughing, and generally doing whatever they wish. I cannot get their attention. I try to raise my voice above theirs, but can’t make myself heard. I try to raise a hand to suggest I want to speak, but I am ignored. I feel…