The next exercise I'm going to perform here is a stream of consciousness based on one particular symbol of a dream. For this exercise, I shall be focusing on the woman in the pinstripe suit who removed her pink towel. [from the second part] I shall write whatever comes to mind. If I make a spelling mistake, leave it and go on. Also to keep on looking forward and not to stop to read what I have already written.

You have been warned.

This isn't the same woman. She's supposed to be the same. Wearing all of those rags, she looks like a completely different person. When she was wearing the pink towel she was a different person. But she she showed off her black pinstripe suit, she looked different. But they were all the same woman. She was wearing glasses. She skirt was knee-high. Professional, sassy and sexy. She looked like Rhonda Bort. I went to school with her. Nice girl. I was hard on her, so eas everyone. She liked different music, had different tastes. She was a 60s girl and dressed the part. Why didn't I treat her better? I had my chance and I should have been nicer to her. I don't know where she is now. No one knows. There was a letter that we got from class to a reunion that I couldn't afford to attend. Rhonda was someone that they needed to find. Have they found her? I hope she's okay. I remember taking on her interests a little late. I was angry with myself when my friend Claude discovered her in a gay club in Saskatoon. Claude was a better friend to Rhonda then I was. When Claude said that Rhonda was bi, it didn't surprise me. It didn't matter. I usually shrug these things off. A person's sexuality doesn't cover a person's attitutde and personality. Unless they choose to. There she was strutting down the audience. There was applause and one heckler. There is always the one heckler. But was it planned? It seemed like it. I didn't find it fair. She seemed really attractive and looked almost off limits. Why did I call her my "dream girl?" because now she doesn't seem to fit the category anymore. She seems to now fit a part of my personality personified by a familiar person. What could she represent? Undiscovered beauty would make sense. Before she was this massive, or seemingly massive woman draped on layer upon layer upon layer upon layer of cloths and rags. That wasn't a spelling mistake. They were cloths. Not clothes. They were there to conceal her. Concealing if she was fat? God no. She wasn't fat. Beauty, appearences. MAybe the dream is telling me not to be so vain about appearances. But I know that. I think I'm really harsh on outward appearances. Underneath everyone is a model. We need to throw off those rags and cloths that is concealing our inner beautiful self. Yes that does include me too. I hit myself for not being a stud, or a good looking man. But if I said I was would people laugh at me? Does it matter any more? If I were to shake my head give a chuckle and say "No no no", it's not going to change anyone's mind. I would rather be timid about my looks. Timid doesn't work here. What's the right word? Underappreciating? You know what, it doesn't matter. It's like the Star Trek episode with the sugar pill from Mudd. They were ugly women, but after they took this sugar pill, they became beautiful. We're all sexy beings. We're all human. We have imperfections, but what about our perfections? The good in everyone, or rather the goodlooking in everyone? If we were to struggle, not struggle, explain or photograph one good quality in everyone, wouldn't that be better then to amplify the ugly? I don't believe in ugly people. But what about me? Am I ugly? I have had people, okay women, tell me that I'm not. But were they saying that because they thought it is something that I wanted to hear? No. No, that's the wrong train of thought. If I were to receive a nice compliment, accept it. That's what I look like, that's what I am. Practice what I preach. If someone tells me that I have a young face and a fit body, why complain? I should not complain. Anyone could be a model. Anyone. It takes a sense of pride in oneself. But on the other side of the coin, we all have an ugly side. We must make use of that too. She used humour and acrobatic skills. Those are metaphors. We all use acrobatics and humor to deal with our ugly sides and our ugly self. If we're fat, we start making fat jokes and then either use diet and exercise or attempt to use diet and exercise to change the fat, or get fatter. People worry about others getting fatter because it's unhealthy. Maybe the lesson of the dream is to accept our beauty and AND accept our ugliness, instead of retaining our ugliness and not do anything to change it. That's unhealthy. If it doesn't work out, crack a joke, try again. Get rid of the hype, the bathing suit that doesn't want to fit you. Why are you keeping it if it's complicated? We don't want to look like a supermodel or live the life of one. People do. Do they have ugly sides? They must have. Self worth. It's a measure of self worth. Can you balance your own beauty and your own ugliness keeping both in check? Or do you let one outweigh the other? Dispense with the rags, dispense with the bathing suit, wear the pinstripe suit that speaks out to everyone and says "I'm sexy, everyone! And I don't give a damn what you think". Or maybe you do, but for the moment, don't care. It will only ruin your night if your thoughts are on your chubby thighs. That's immaterial. No one cares. Not even the one your dating because they're worried about their pot belly. But the dream isn't about dating. She wore glasses, had a professional hair cut, wore a professional suit, and looked sexy. But she could be anyone. That's the magic and beauty of it.