Sunday, July 6

I just woke from a very strange dream.

We were at some sort of baseball training place. Xtina was swimming holding 5 quarts of cream out in front of her, pressed together in a row. The 3 heavy cream cartons made a picture with the sides together, as did the 2 light creams. Aaron was standing outside the pool trying to figure out why this exercise was important. It worked the legs because she was swimming without using her arms and the arms got a workout trying to keep the cartons of cream all lined up. The wall of cream also added resistance, I guess. I don’t think Aaron had figured it out by the time I woke up.

Jim was showing us (me and another girls- I didn’t know her) all the motions in pitching. He had a few in there that were completely useless. He was upset because Pedro had been reclassified as a ‘c pitcher’. This didn’t mean he had to play in the minors or anything, just that the label would come after his name in anything to do with Major League Baseball. Jim then started to compare pitchers to sodas and rating them.

I didn’t think there were any Red Sox there until Derek Lowe came up and told me I was sitting on his towel. He then showed me how to pitch. He left out (and joked about) Jim’s extra steps, but his explanation was a little wacky as well.

I woke up soon after that. There were more of the typical Charlie’s crowd there, but I don’t remember exactly what they were doing.

I don’t know what this means, but all I can come up with is that the Boston Poets should challenge the New York Poets to a game of baseball, or at least whiffle ball. I’m guessing Boston wins. I’m guessing a score of 10-2 or 3.

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