Why?Fake It 'Til You Make It?Why?

I constantly have anxiety dreams about marching band.

Last night, I began with being late for a pre-graduation ceremony. I knew I'd dreamed about this ceremony before and I had: I had dream memories several times during the dream (last time, there was a parking garage there, etc.). There's a hazy scene of my mother patiently driving me to the school ground. As usual, I'd forgotten I was in the band. And thus forgotten that I needed to attend the ceremony. When I finally got off the band bus-- the last trip transporting stragglers to the field-- I realized I'd forgotten my horn. Somehow, I picked up a flute and a saxophone with no mouthpiece; I figured that by carrying these I would at least look like I was playing-- better than marching with no instrument at all. Kathy Jenkins-- harried but incredibly focused-- hustled past me. To get to the field, all band members (in full uniform and carrying instruments) had to go through an obstacle course including a window wrapped in sheets of rubbery plastic which we had to squeeze through. This course was an annual ritual, but we agreed that this year they'd taken things too too far. It was now dark, and I think I set down the flute and saxophone, forgetting them on the other side of the window. I would probably fail band for the semester and would look like a fool in the ceremony when the senior band members were called forward to be honored. But, I gloated that I didn't have my horn with me-- it would have been dented in all the confusion. Maybe everyone would just chuckle at me without my horn-- chuckle at the creative type. The marching formations were unrehearsed and communicated to us only by a series of numbers printed on our hats in red. Still, everyone else seemed better informed, more aware of what they were doing and where they were headed than I was. I could hear a member of the school council delivering a prayer. I knew what teachers and parents didn't: he was a nocturnal beast. It was afternoon and things were less hectic as we sauntered toward the field. Katina Allen was there and chirped pleasantly to me. I knew I would fail band for the semester. Night had fallen and I was racing to spot #23 amidst emotionless band members. Were we even on the field? It looked like a hill way off to one side.

Jump cut to the blazing bright afternoon immediately following the event, and I'm strutting down the sidewalk next to the high school which had the look of the Stanford campus. I had gotten into Harvard, I'd just learned, and couldn't wait to go, even though I knew Rory Gilmore wouldn't be there with me. Maybe my band grade didn't mean anything at all??!?