The Stuff That Dreams Are Made Of

I can rarely remember my dreams, minus the few that have reoccurred over time. When I was a kid, there was a scary reocurring dream about being trapped in some dark mansion. I eventually, after having the dream several times over a period of years, escaped by rolling out in a barrel, right past a long line of tourists lining up to tour the mansion.

More recently, I periodically dream that I've gone back to college, at my current age, to, apparently, finish up my degree. (In spite of the fact that I have my degree and graduated 6.5 years ago.) Its always the same bible college that I attended, but the dorms and those present in the dorms is always different. Because I attended a conservative bible college that girded every female with a chastity belt and boy-less dorm , I often contemplate in my dreams how I'm going to deal with the fact that I have a husband.

Recently, in real life, I visited the campus of my alma mater. Some of my dearest college pals gathered in Cincinnati for a brief reunion over the holiday, and, with respect to our college traditions of minimal grooming, a few of us rolled out of bed after a late night (of ice cream and movies instead of beer bongs and joints, naturally), and with not much more than a brush of our teeth, we visited the campus to see how it had changed.

We haunted some familiar locations, posing in rememberance of the pious days of our youth...


Because everyone knows God hears you better in a gazebo.

And overloooking the city skyline makes you look like you have something serious to ponder.

To some of the dogma and over-wrought emotional experiences of our college years, Anne and I give a flying middle finger.

But there is nothing to regret about an experience that allows you long time friends such as these.

Since the visit, the dream of returning to college has come again, but this time I was living in a co-ed apartment off campus, where a not famous Vince Vaughn was one of my roomates. I think I'm making progress.