Found it hard to wake up this morning, not for being tired but because – as often the case even since I was quite young – I preferred the dreams. Lately I don’t remember them but today:

Visited someone’s apartment in Berkeley: caricature of a seventies apartment with dark carpet, formica walls, lots of paintings with gilded frames. From there to math class on the roof where we all stand up in rows and take notes in red ink. Then down in the basement I talk to the guy who runs the photo lab at ASUC about frogs while we look in tanks at them. Some, like Xenopus laevis, live at 50 degrees.

We hold up a bank, take hostages, all in China. Some sort of political inspiration. The bank is all marble and old leather; high ceilings. I leave to run some errand and take a gun. When I get back everything is perfectly back to normal. People standing in line at the teller’s, etc. At one end of the main hall a flight of stairs. Worried, I take out my guns. One is a pistol of normal manufacture, the other is a ray gun. Half-way up the stairs I realize they’re both toys, although whenever I realize one of them is just a stage prop I seem to think the other must, logically, be usable. Someone tells me to look in a room for my comrades but in the first room (which looks like a classroom) everyone sits in the back and obviously hasn’t got the guts to pull off a bank robbery.