I’ll give some background on this dream, cause I remember some of it.

Now, think Pokemon. think Misty and Ash and Team Rocket are running around your school. They aren’t competing with Pokemon, but they’re having a contest of some sort. Team Rocket loses, like usual. Think that you’re sitting in the hallway just before the stairway that leads downstairs to the locker rooms. You’re sitting there with Misty, Ash, Jesse, and James. A boy from real life, John, comes over and starts taunting the Poke*people. James and Jesse get mad and start chasing them. You join, laughing your head off. You reach the glass doors in between lockers and stop. There are girl talking and laughing. Suddenly you’re in 3rd grade again, and you sit down quietly, wanting to be involved and friends with these girls. Your clothes suddenly change to a pair of bell bottums and some sort of trendy logo plastered shirt. Misty comes over and starts talking too. Two of the girls ask Misty to join their “team”. Misty agrees and runs off with the three. The other two smile at you sweetly, and tell you to come on. They’re the kind of girls who are nice enough to be friendly with you, and popular enough not to get jumped for being with you. You go to the hallway that leads to the auditorium and the door that lead out of the school. But the doors, instead of leading to a parking lot, lead to a beach. And this is when everything gets detailed for me,

I’m on a concrete cliff that overlooks the beach. It’s windy, but the wind isn’t cold. There are people in the usual skimpy swimwear playing in the water. My parents are below, and one of the girls you’re with scurries down and grabs my sketch book and brings it back. My artwork is very good, and resembles that of Anya Schwartz. I idolize her greatly, she’s one of my favorite artists. And since my art looks like hers I’m obviously estatic. So I cling to my sketch book fo dear life. There’s some sort of competition going on between my team and the other. But I need a bathing suit. My two friends run off to find me something that won’t make me cry because of the amount of my skin visable. The wind is getting very strong, and the booie (I have no idea how to spell that. Just say it like boo-ie) that’s keeping people from swimming out to far is drifting further and further away from shore. I get smart and tie the booie around one of the poles on the concrete ledge so it won’t drift away too far. Then the girls come over and start making fun of me. I’ve thrown my sketch book to the ground when I’m tying the booie up, and they’re making grabs at it. Now even though my art looks like Anya’s, I still don’t want people seeing it and making fun of me, because they’ll do that, regardless of the quality. Either that or they’ll get jealous and ruin it. That happened to me many times in my childhood. People would tear up the little stories I wrote. So I was freaking out, and then the wind got *very* strong. It blew the ledge away from the sand, so that it was barely attached. I’m afriad of hieghts, so I was freaking out, and clinging to the rope for dear life. The girls were scurring about like spider monkies, no doubt in their minds that the would fall. Holding out my sketch book to me, but just out of reach. Then the cliff completely breaks away. The girl with my sketch book looses her balence and leans forward and I grab my sketch book and hang on tight. She looks disgusted and lets go, landing agily on her feet. I’m still clinging to the rope, clutching my sketchbook in fear it’ll blow away. My friends come back and help me get enough confidence to slide down. And that’s all I can remember