A dream I had in November, 2000

Sunny day, a street somewhere. Could be Middle America, could be Kitsilano. Traffic is slow, so as I walk I occasionally pass it, then it passes me, then I pass it again. Among the traffic, a yellow 1950's-style bus. Driven at first glance by an old woman, but the second time I look it's a crazy middle-aged hippie behind the wheel. In any case, the driver is terrible. The back end of the bus keeps swinging out and driving over stuff it shouldn't be driving over. At first a piece of sidewalk, then a corner of somebody's bumper. At one point the bus drives over a shiny black sports car parked by the side of the road, crushing the car under its massive rear wheels. (All this time, I don't get a feeling of malevolence from the bus, just an embarrassingly careless incompetence. The rest of the street just keeps driving.) Suddenly there is a sound like a gunshot. The crazy hippie slumps forward silently. His forehead, in which there now appears to be a small black mark like a bullet-hole, hits the pavement as he falls. The yellow bus is nowhere in sight. I'm excited by all this but frightened at the same time. I begin to walk faster and faster. As I'm about to turn the corner into a small side street protected by a green hedge, I hear a voice about half a block behind me yell, "Chris!" I keep my head down and turn the corner quickly, almost running.

Performance anxiety

In this dream, I hit a really bad mood while about to perform Alexander Rybak's Eurovision-winning song "Fairytale". The girl I'm performing with starts singing, except she isn't really singing, she's *reading* the hitherto-unknown spoken-word section of the song. I'm about to tell her to skip that part but then I wake up, in a really bad mood.