The Wonderful Wizard of Oz

I dreamed that my school was putting on a production of the "The Wizard of Oz." (They're not, they're doing "Beauty & The Beast.") I went there with my mom to see it, it made no sense and definitely was not "The Wizard of Oz."

We drove home and I suddenly realized I had forgotten my purse there, so I put on my rollerblades (wow... nerdy) and rollerbladed back up to the school. I had not left my purse there. I rollerbladed back home. Then back to the school. Then back home.

Then the dream took a whole different turn and I was in a hotel room with four other people. We were there for some event, probably an honors band or something because one of them was a french horn player girl from my school.

The two guys shared a bed and the french horn player and I shared a bed and the third girl had a cot against the wall. We were all hanging out and chatting, and the guys told us that they are gay. (Which isn't surprising, a lot of guy musicians I know are gay.) Then the french horn player told me she is gay, also. That was sort of a surprise because she'd never mentioned anything like that, but not surprising because she does seem like she'd be a lesbian.

I laughed and said something like, "Am I the only straight person here?"

The other girl answered saying that she was confused about her sexuality, so I very well could be the only straight person there. We were all having a jolly good time, then the french horn player's mom showed up.

We all greeted her and made small talk, then I made the comment again about being the only straight person there, assuming that she already knew her daughter was gay.

Apparently, she did not. I was about to feel really, really bad that I had told her, but then they hugged and I found out that french horn player girl had never found a way to tell her mom and I had finally gotten it over with for her.

Then the dream took another spontaneous turn.

I found a book, don't know where I found it. It was about me, and it included some of the memoirs that I write down so that I can remember them. I got angry, because I owned all of those memories and I wanted to publish them myself, not let someone else do it. Turns out, my dad had written the biography. I was both flattered and frustrated. Then the dream ended.