Dream of:
18 March 2003 "Details"I was planning to camp out near the old swimming hole on the Gallia County Farm, over a kilometer from the Farmhouse. Carolina, my sister, and my sister's husband had come to the swimming hole with me. When we discovered other people already in the area where we had planned to camp, they left and returned to the Farmhouse; but I stayed on.
A half-dozen or more fellows (probably in their early 20s) had already set up camp. I wondered if my father had given them permission to camp there. I asked whether they had received permission, but I didn't receive a satisfactory answer. Instead, one of the fellows caught my attention when he said something about marijuana. When he lit up a joint and handed it to me, I took a hit. Almost immediately I felt confused and uncertain of myself. Someone asked if I wanted to drink something. I told them I had been drinking some beer earlier, but now I couldn't remember what kind of beer, nor could I find the beers which I still had. Another fellow asked me if I would like some wine. He showed me a round metal tub filled with ice and small bottles of wine. He asked whether I would prefer red wine or white wine. I didn't care for either – I preferred beer. Nevertheless, I indicated I would take the white wine; he handed me a bottle.
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I was sitting in a classroom, telling the story of my visit to the old swimming hole. I began by describing the Farm: I said the Farm was in southeastern Ohio, that it was owned by my father and that it contained 400 acres of hilly ground. I knew the Farm actually only contained 388 acres, but I rounded up. Was I lying? I didn't think it mattered. Some people seemed skeptical of my story, but my old Portsmouth friend Anderson, who was in the class, confirmed that the Farm did exist.
I then hesitated about going into the details of the story. Should I mention that I had smoked some marijuana? Maybe I should leave out that part. No, I would just go ahead and tell the story as it had happened.
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