Ugarit

Last week I was pondering my situation before I went to sleep, trying not to think too hard about getting into my classes.

Before I woke up I had a vivid dream: it was the first day of classes, and I was anxious to appear and convince the professors that I should be included. First was the Arabic class. I showed up a little early (what a relief), and then gathered around the dimly lit and dusty table with the other serious scholars who, I thought, wanted to begin learning Modern Standard Arabic. Soon it became evident that the class was not what it was billed to be. The discussion was enthusiastic, but the professor and other students were rhapsodizing about their previous experiences together in classes studying Ugarit. By now they were all proficient Ugarit scholars, and would much rather spend this class time discussing ancient texts they were all familiar with. My angst mushroomed as I realized that none of these texts were in Arabic, they were all in Ugarit. I didn't want to learn Ugarit, and it was a waste of time to listen to other people discuss it. They informed me that the actual title of this class was "Ancient Arab Lifestyles," but they planned to disregard this. I almost despaired as I thought: is this the class that was really supposed to be Arabic 101, or is that meeting someplace else, and am I missing it??

That afternoon I tried to relax with a friend in my living room. We chatted while I mended a shirt. Meanwhile her husband arrived. He made his way to the bathroom, and I heard the shower begin running! As I was preparing to tie off the loose ends on the shirt, it hit me that I was supposed to be at the French class. In a panic, I looked at the schedule and saw that the class was meeting on a bridge between two places which I couldn't identify. I didn't have time to figure it out, I would just have to guess. As I explained everything to my friend, the ceiling began to pour water, but I didn't have time to handle this problem, and left her there.

I biked to the first bridge I could think of, and when I crossed it, saw a small group gathered on the grass. Mysteriously, even though it was past 9 p.m., there was still daylight. The serene, blonde professor said sweetly, "We are just getting started now, since we have several people arriving late!" Practically fainting with relief, I joined them.

The next morning, driving to my good-bye party for the job I just left, I apparently went through a stop sign by mistake, one that I stopped at every morning on my way to work. Obviously I wasn't paying attention, or I also would have seen the police car waiting to stop me. My first moving violation, after more than 10 years driving... the last thing I needed. On top of the dream, it just seemed like the last straw. Still waiting for things to get brighter...