6:56 a.m.

I have an interview with a Northwestern alum at 9 am this morning.  Last night I had a dream that I went to the interview.  It was OK but my attention kept wandering.  The interviewer was a bald, 40-year-old man with a black moustache.  He wore a red and white striped shirt, like one I have in my closet but have never worn.  I recall saying something about Fred Wilke in my dream—he was my boss when I worked at Sports Stats Inc.  But in the dream I thought to myself how similar the name Fred Wilke is to Fred Wiese (my neighbor downstairs).

In a somewhat separate episode of the dream, I was living in an apartment in a tall building.  I went down to get my car out of the garage.  It cost five dollars to take it out but I swear that I paid only $1.50.  Arbi, from work, was one of the valets. We were talking about how it was $5 to get my car this time but it was going to be $10 next time, or was supposed to be $10.  These were just suggested rates.  I was asking Arbi why anyone would pay any more than they had to.  “You know how much I make,” I said to Arbi.  But he didn’t seem to be with me on this.


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