3/12/2008 Dream

I'm out in public in a crowd of people and this announcement come on that the olympic volleyball team will be playing a re-match, but that they must pay some amount of money for each play in the game. at which point George Bush comes on the loudspeaker to say that he'll start the process by giving all the money he has in his pockets to the volleyball team. I see him just over there on the sidewalk talking into a microphone, and see that pulls out a wad of bill and some loose change and puts them into an envelope. I know that i'm tasked with taking that money up to the whitehouse where there is an observer on the roof who will take the money and hold it. I go over and collect the money from him. as soon as he stops talking on the microphone, people start ignoring him, even though he's the president and people are walking right by him. we both start walking towards the whitehouse, and i make a comment to him that doesn't he remember me - i was in some parade of some sort. And then he's gone, and i arrive at the whitehouse and go through the check in process - i have to sign in on the official, ceremonial log. but it's taking me a long time, because i only have a fat red permanent marker to write with, and my handwriting is all childish. As I'm writing, someone makes a comment that I must be a republican, to which i reply - why would you think that? and they say that, i must be, because - look - I'm running an errand for George Bush! to which I say, no - i just have empathy and compassion for everyone. and the person says - everyone? and I say - everyone. and then i finish signing in, and we dash up the stairs - it's a race, really. there is a guard leading the way, and we're running higher and higher up the building, through working spaces, until we get to the final escalator to the attic - it's mostly archives up here - there are some workers doing something, but they mostly ignore me. and i'm running past the file cabinets to the final stairs that lead up to the very top of the building, and i see out of the corner of my eye a photographer steps out from behind the bookshelves to take my picture as I cross the "finish line", as if i'm performing a ceremonial duty that should be captured for posterity.