dream report: synchronicity

I found myself at a large indoor public pool, part of a swimming class whose other students were children, around ten years old. I couldn't figure out why no one noticed that I was an adult. We were all standing up on blocks, and there was a pipe running the length of the pool, below our feet and just above the water. We were instructed to reach down to the pipe. All the children could reach, but I came nowhere near. My hands dangled uselessly, and I began to notice how thick the chlorinated air was, and how many people there were, poised over this pipe that ran the length of the pool. There were hundreds of us, and the line of students disappeared somewhere in the mist.
We were then told to let go of the pipe, but dive into the water, keeping as close to the pipe as possible. I couldn't see how this would work out without us cracking our skulls, but when I tried it, I slipped into the water in a perfect, splashless dive. But when I reached the bottom of the pool, it was so disgustingly murky I hesitated to push off from the bottom, even though it was the only way I'd make it back up to the air in time.
Over coffee, Ari told me that he'd dreamed he was on a synchronized diving team, and that he kept executing these perfect dives. We haven't been talking about swimming or diving lately, synchronized or otherwise, so this is another instance that makes me wonder if we talk to each other in our sleep.

Trains, Trains, Trains!

...the conductors that chug through Baton Rouge at 3 a.m. are, to say the least, excessively scrupulous in letting us know they are present. The other night, one of them hit that horn every two seconds for about a full hour. No evident forward progress of said train, no Doppler effect whatsoever.
Whoever's on the tracks at 3 a.m. can fend for themselves after the first ten minutes of honking, if you ask me. All I could do was lay there and fume helplessly, as I pictured myself out there in the dark, throwing rocks at the boxcars and ineffectually screaming out my rage.
But, to tell the truth, things have been quieter for the past couple of nights. I just wanted to break my silence on here with a rant. I'm afraid time took the sting off it, though.
I'm sure something else will produce a better tirade soon.

running update

I am steadily gaining faith in my ability to do this half-marathon thing, and while I wouldn't say each run is easier, I can feel myself growing in strength and mental fortitude. I can see myself running the 2.5 hours it will probably take me to do the 13.1 miles - albeit probably slowly. I ran a nice fast (for me) 3.5 miles the other day - a pace of 9:20 min per mile, to my usual 12.00 min. Speed isn't the goal, but the spike was encouraging - although I'm not sure where it came from.
Meanwhile, I haven't been all that productive in the writing department in the past couple of weeks - I try to plod along but become discouraged or distracted, or veins that seem promising dry up on me too soon to become much. But I can't help but treat running as a constant, physical metaphor for writing - I'm in training and just need to learn how to make those encouraging spikes happen more often. I'm trying to pay more attention to what makes them come.

dream report #2

Sarah Palin's motorcade was scheduled to come through Baton Rouge, along our street (as Bush's had nearly done during Gustav). Somehow, I managed to infiltrate her squad of security officers and gain access to the slick black vehicle that was to bring her through. I was dressed all in black, and wore scuffed combat boots with all manner of huge buckles and straps - no one suspected me. I was armed with a semi-automatic, but instead of using it to take out the vicious hockey mom, I set up a unique sort of bomb: When Palin got into the car, trapped securely behind the tinted bulletproof glass, a tampon saturated with liquid explosive would descend from the car's roof, and detonate in her face.
Horrifyingly violent, I know, but to my credit, I did make sure that the explosion would be so powerful as to wipe her out instantly. And in the reality of the dream, she didn't die, she simply ceased to have ever existed.
This situation is getting out of hand.