I was in a big fancy seaside mansion with Sarah and some other people; it looked a bit like the one in Harold and Maude, and a picture window looked across a road and down California cliffs to the sea. I went outside and was standing in a pool of water… saw some little minnow-like fish swimming nearby, went to poke them with one foot, and they all swarmed up and latched onto my toes and began sucking my blood. I ran out of the water, kicked and scraped, but they wouldn’t let go. It was hideous, and painful; one or two clinging to each toe, and they were bloated to twice their original size with my blood, and they would not let go, even as I scraped them on the ground. Finally they all let go and I limped off into the other room. Sarah was there and I asked her where everyone was. “Oh, they all just got on a bus to scout out where we’re going to do the next bike tour,” she said. I was upset and felt left out, wished I could have gone. There was some reason why I wasn’t as permanent there as everyone else, but I don’t know what it was.
