Dream Journal
There was a sort of talent show being put on at my old church, and it was my turn to sing. I was at the piano holding a styrofoam box with Italian leftovers in it. I placed the pasta on top of the piano.
My mom was supposed to accompany me, but I looked up to see her rush to the back of the sanctuary in order to take pictures. I had to go after her and make sure she came up to accompany me.
She sat down at the organ, but didn’t know how to work the pedals. She complained that her feet didn’t fit on them, and the whole thing was awkward. I told her to use either the keyboard or the piano; it didn’t make much of a difference to me.
This whole time we were in front of the audience; I felt we were taking up too much time. Everyone else was quiet and patient while waiting for us to begin, but I was feeling very awkward and unprepared. I decided to give up my time shop and perhaps go later.