I was at the BART en route to the train station to set out cross-country on bicycle. On the BART was a conveyor belt with a load of stuff on it, mostly mine, and I was frantically going through, trying to get what was mine. N. had gotten me a box to put plays in, and some New Yorker mags from like 1939. What great gift! I was thinking as the musical alarm woke me up. Other people had heaped me with CDs and minidiscs of music, but I was sure I'd picked up some unopened commercial products in the mad dash to get on the train as it was pulling out.

I was taking the BART because I had already left my car at the train station when I set out on bicycle the day before. It had been fun biking along the road at night, knowing I could get in the car at any time. But I had left the car at the train station. As I was biking down the road in suburban California I kept finding myself in a driveway, then in a mall, then cycling into a mathroom & going, this isn't the main road! Then trying the other bathroom & saying the same thing, then finding my way back out to the real road, going Easy across America. People were looking at me funny but not too funny, for biking in the mall. I don't know why it was so hard for me to stay on the road. Anyway it was after not a full day of that when I got sent back to San Francisco and had to rush to get on the BART with all my stuff. Oh and my stuff kept showing up on the open-air BART cars going in the other direction. And I had to grab it precariously thinking I'm glad that turned up.