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zesty_pintoI dreamt of going to work in a university that was staffed like the museum, and was more like a mall. A large number of elevators went to many different floors with many different shops that provided things ranging from haircuts to anything else. I was moving in from one place. To get there, you had to take a train from the city that ran along a track that coiled along thin aluminum bands during its turns over a fen.
One day, I went to the museum with all my things, for I was moving there. Along the way, I noted the fragility of the coils and how the train ran. Out of curiosity, I bumped the side while the train rested on one aluminum band in its turn. The train immediately responded by tilting and falling into the swamp. We stood there waiting for rescue as I tried to get my stuff out desperately, but failed. We were pulled out into a boat and was promised to get my stuff back.
I never did and it depressed me. We were to have a ceremony on our bravery with the president of the university (who was Ellen Futter, who was the president of the Museum), but after hearing that there would be no attempt to rescue my stuff, I leave in mid-ceremony out of anger.
People are looking for me, but I am hiding. The depression leaves me utterly despondent towards everything except contact, which I now loathe. My friends gather together and try to get me somewhere, but I only respond by sneaking away and hiding again, knowing that I have nowhere to go without what sunk in that train.
One day, I went to the museum with all my things, for I was moving there. Along the way, I noted the fragility of the coils and how the train ran. Out of curiosity, I bumped the side while the train rested on one aluminum band in its turn. The train immediately responded by tilting and falling into the swamp. We stood there waiting for rescue as I tried to get my stuff out desperately, but failed. We were pulled out into a boat and was promised to get my stuff back.
I never did and it depressed me. We were to have a ceremony on our bravery with the president of the university (who was Ellen Futter, who was the president of the Museum), but after hearing that there would be no attempt to rescue my stuff, I leave in mid-ceremony out of anger.
People are looking for me, but I am hiding. The depression leaves me utterly despondent towards everything except contact, which I now loathe. My friends gather together and try to get me somewhere, but I only respond by sneaking away and hiding again, knowing that I have nowhere to go without what sunk in that train.
