that I'm in a basement, doing something to an old and dusty brick chimney/fireplace. It runs up through the building but this is its base. I'm not sure what we're doing - looking for something or dismantling it - we seem to be moving the bricks (memory of J dismantling the fireplace that was a structural support for the house). There are three of us - myself, a woman who's also me and someone I have minimal awareness of. The woman collapses suddenly and falls back, appearing completely unconscious. I don't know if she's dead or alive and needing medical attention. I'd go to her but there's a shadow falling from the door - long and misshapen. I am frightened and need to see who or what it is, I WILL look at it. I drag myself forward.  It's a small girl, about 8 or 10. She is just standing there in silhouette. I'm looking at her, shouting at her in panic - "I am NOT scared of you! I am NOT scared of you!" She doesn't move. She has long light-brown hair and small, round, thick glasses that glow in the light. She looks like a miniature Janis Joplin.

*

I go to see my therapist - I can't remember who it is since I quit with the other women - I'm surprised to realise it's a local poet. I'm not sure why I made that decision; doesn't it expose me? I guess I thought he would relate to my way of thinking. I'm mentally scanning through his works, trying to see whether I think he's competent or not but I'm also thinking 'oh well, we'll give it a try.'

for suspended moments after waking I try to figure out if this is real. I realise it's not, but then I can't remember who my therapist is. Is it a man or a woman? Where?