I am thinking of friendslocking my journal. A year ago I would have said something like, "No! I could never do that!" but now it seems... logical. I'm not sure! It all seems fruitless.

IN ANY CASE, last night I had a complex and winding dream that involved the Jonas Brothers. Well, I mean, they were there at the end.

It began at this strange, special school. It was like a high school and a college crossed; that is, the classes seemed composed like high school courses, but you signed up for whatever you wanted to take. They didn't have times set, though, so whenever you felt like it you could go to a class on the first day, and if it wasn't full, that was the time you wound up assigned to it. I don't remember the content of most of the classes, but I remember they were... different. Like superscience and supernatural things. Advanced telekinesis and cloning and that sort of thing. The only class I actually remember, though, is one where we... sewed. Our assignment was to sew something lifelike. I sewed a puppy! It looked pretty good (not quite lifelike, but getting there) but it wasn't very well-balanced, and the legs had trouble holding the body up. I got points off for that, but I think I got extra points for suggesting it cold be either a black Labrador Retriever or a Flat-Coated Retriever. (I had based the pattern on a Golden Retriever puppy, but had sewn it in black.) I was proud of my puppy.

At this school we had special codes for each student of twelve numbers. Each acted as a password and a lock to all our possessions and anything we might need them for. Somehow, Stewie from Family Guy was there, and used his to lock himself in a metal box so he could... go inside a bigger metal box with a coffin. Or something. Because possibly the thing inside the coffin was not dead, or had a personal possession of his? I don't know. That was weird.

Then the dream shifted to winter in a slightly different New York City. I was this normal sort of guy who hung around in this group of bars with two friends of mine, and though we were all underage I was the only one who couldn't get into the interior bars, because they'd treat me like shit, as I was somehow a misfit. So we hung out in these diner-like bars on the sides of the others instead. Then I went home.

Then the dream shifted again, and instead of being the boy I was a girl laying out in the snow, unconscious. I had a big bag of stuff with me, and I'd been drinking and then been kicked out of wherever I'd been, but my memory was fuzzy. I knew I didn't have anywhere to go, though; unlike the guy's friends and their families, my friends wouldn't take me in. So the guy came out and found me, and started to like me, and offered to let me stay at his place.

Unfortunately, dream-me was a class A idiot, and after accidentally knocking him three times in the groin, my reaction to being handed a baseball was to throw it at his balls. Unlike in real life, I had excellent aim, so I hit spot on. He fell over, eyes watering, and I just went, "Hey, I had to. I promise that was the last time, though!"

He told me to get out. SURPRISE SURPRISE.

I went outside his place, and found a group of three friends waiting for me. One of the two girls was made up very pretty.

"Thank God you're here!" I said. "Can I stay with you?"

They said something that sounded affirmative, but then the girl who was made up very pretty brought out this color pallet from my bag of stuff that may have been eye shadow. She said that I only saw in the colors that I thought were pretty, and that was all well and good and sometimes what people liked about me, but I needed to learn to see in all the colors. And then she started wearing different shades of makeup, until she got down near the pink, and covered herself in this big, bright pink rubber thing. Somehow it was like skin, but it seemed more to me like a womb or something. I asked if I could try it, but she said no, that I needed to figure this stuff out for myself.

I was alone again. I tried adding colors to my pallet, but I couldn't figure out what it was missing, so I gave up. I went home — to my father's home, where I didn't like to be. I was an only child. (Er, it wasn't my real-life father. Just a guy who was my dad in the dream.) He told me how disappointed he was in me, and essentially grounded me, saying that when he got home (it was morning by this point, and he was off to work) I'd better be there, and I wouldn't be allowed to leave all night. As soon as he left, so did I.

I tried to go to a drive-in movie theater with a friend (separate from the three who'd had the color intervention), which we liked to go to because they sold alcohol to minors and apparently we were minors, but we realized we were far too short on cash. We had a pass that would have allowed us to be the last ones in, or something, but we couldn't afford the candy and certainly couldn't afford the tickets... or something. And we definitely couldn't afford the orange-flavored beer we were going to say was Coke. The ticket expired the next day, so we were disappointed, but what could we do? No money. I was probably more disappointed that I wouldn't get to be some place with heating, since apparently that drive-in did. We were never concerned about not having a car, and never questioned why there should be a drive-in in New York City.

We walked down towards where Washington Square Park was, except it wasn't a park in my dream, just a couple of weird blocks. I was thinking about how I couldn't go down certain streets again, 'cause the guy I'd hit in the balls lived down there, and then I noticed — hey, is that Nick Jonas?

Why yes. Yes it was. He was playing on a street corner with a couple of non-Jonas guys, including a guy with a weird mohawk. They had several security guys, but still, what the hell. Playing on a street corner? In New York City? Apparently not a lot of people had noticed them yet, though.

I told my friend to get her sister, who adored the Jonas Brothers, so she did, and we crossed the street and I hoisted her up so she could get a view over all the taller kids and the security guards. Shortly after that, Nick and the other musicians scattered like birds, since the crowd was getting too big.

But we found Nick again! He was in this concrete lot with Joe. I was disappointed by the lack of Kevin, but I started snapping pictures with a disposable camera anyway, because it was for my friends' sister, not me. Joe came up and posed, but I'd forgotten to wind the camera and then he went away. I snapped a few more pictures, and then we had to go.

I wandered about on my own then, trying to think of a place I could go. I wouldn't go back to my father's, and so I was essentially homeless, and it was cold and snowy.

I turned a corner and saw a guy using some pulley thing to drop a fake body to the ground, and over-dramatically shouted, "No, don't, you'll kill him!" When it hit the ground I pretended to be heartbroken, going, "He's dead! You killed him! He's dead!"

Then I noticed that the guy was Joe Jonas, and Nick Jonas was on the roof. As soon as I did, though, they ran. Like birds.

I climbed on top of these really tilted stairs that went over one building to a high-up apartment where a bunch of older Russian folks lived. There was a platform, and I decided to stay there and think. I might have decided to try to get a job at CNN or something, but then I heard singing and thought, "OH MY GOD IS IT A JONAS BROTHER AGAIN?" It was not. It was five old Russian guys, singing a thickly-slurred and possibly drunken version of a very cheerful song, the lyrics to which were written in white on the rail of the platform. I tried to sing along.

Then I woke up.



And at some point before all this there might have been a thing about a singing troupe I was part of becoming a popular stripping group instead, sort of like in Gypsy? I don't remember that part much.