Friday, September 05, 2003

Oye. A bizarre dream wakes me up. My sister Susan and I are Russian skaters at the 1991 Olympics. We are both really bad, Susan's legs are made from French bread, which probably explains why she can't make any jumps. She gets angry and smashes into the boards with her skates after her unsuccessful routine. I realize we can sell her story to the press and get a lot of money. We have to flee from our handlers, and as I puzzle how to do this- while I am doing my routine- I wake up. The French bread legs- now that was the real strange part. Where did that come from?

Last night I dreamed about Greg from Ann Arbor, who I haven't seen for ten years. In that dream he was sitting on my front steps during a snow storm. I climbed out of bed and did an internet search and found his email address and sent him a hello note. I was pleased to find a response- he's doing well and is a doctor at a major teaching hospital. He was the first visible gay man I knew of at the U of Michigan, and damn he was good looking. I was a scared kid, but knowing that there was the heroic, handsome gay man willing to speak out on gay issues made coming out of the closet a little easier.

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