May 11, 1992.

I am on a lake with no land in sight, in a car. My car is
floating slowly on the lake. A storm is brewing and I wonder if
I can swim to shore that is, if I knew where shore is...

I am in a parking lot with family and friends. They get into
the car and I find full of pennies on the ground.




This is the final entry in Agnes's Dream Journal
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May 10, 1992

I am with Thierry and the boys and there are mice and little
fires all over. We catch them and throw them out of wherever we
are. I see Thierry with a mouse in his hands and tell him to be
careful, not to get bitten because of rabies. We run around and
put the fires out. There is a big rat that turns into a rabbit.
No one is frightened or disgusted. It's just something that has
to be done.


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May 4, 1992.

I am in a university. We are preparing a big protest march or
meeting. I am in a hallway and it is crowded with students. An
old scool friend, Josette, is there. She is very self-confident.

I am at the hospital in the elevator with some nurses. I am
about to get off on the second floor but the nurse says I must
not get off here. On the fourth floor, they tell me to get off.
I know it's the oncology ward and I think there must be some
mistake. According to the nurses however, there is no mistake.
I have cancer.

I am in a pool swimming. I have the pool all to myself. All of
a sudden, Gilles dives in and we playfully race in the pool.

Josette shows up. She has two daughters: a blonde one and a dark
one. I see the blonde and say she should have been a brunette
because of her character. Josette agrees "but she looks like
me", she says. Josette is very dark haired. Josette has a bunch
of tools in her hand. It is to build her house in Switzerland.
She lives there with her husband. She show Gilles and I how the
tools are different, even the nails.

I am back in the pool. This time, by myself. I swim a couple of
lengths and then cross over to the other side of the building. I
amn on the second floor of the hospital, in my bathing suit and I
am looking for dirty dishes. There is only one dessert dish and
I quickly leave because it looks strange to be walking down a
hospital corridor in a swimsuit.

I find myself in abother pool, parallel to the one before. I
dive in but hit my temple on a step while diving. I can feel
myself losing control, passing out, but I fight. I think:
"Gilles doesn't know; no one knows I am in the pool. They'll
find me dead at the bottom of the pool". Little by little, I
regain consciousness. I can swim on my back and hope I will make
it to the other end of the pool. I do and it starts snowing,
thowugh it's an indoor pool. Suddenly, one end of the pool is
open to the outdoors. A dg comes up, jumps into the pool. More
and more snow is falling. I am not cold. I think I am lucky to
have this pool to relax, to rest from work. In the corner of the
pool, I dig and find two dirty starfish. I think about bringing
them home but they are too big, and too dirty and still alive.
Beside them, I find a fairly big turtle with a pattern of little
holes in her shell. A am scared the dog will eat her.


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April 29, 1992.

I have to wrtie. I have to start seeing myself as a writer. It
comes to me clearly in my dream.

Then, I am sitting in a huge hall, alone. The hall is partly
open the the outdoors. An oriental man comes to talk to me. He
is small and he talks incessantly. At one point, he offers me a
cigarette. I accept. We smoke and then, he asks me to dance. I
say not this one as there is no one else on the dance floor. He
is disppointed but accepts. I see little children who are
dancing a dance with bamboo sticks. They dance in pairs. Most
are Oriental, but not all.

I accept to dance the next dance with the Oriental man. He
tightly squeezes my arm as he accompanies me to the dance floor.
I am uncomfortable. It is a fast-paced number and we have fun.
I try not to lead too much. At one point, I lose my shoe. We
continue dancing the number until it is finished and I pick up my
shoe after.

We then walk back to our seats. Once again, he holds me tightly
by the arm and I wonder if he could be violent.

We meet two men we both know. They are soldiers; one is a Gomer
Pyle type of character. He says: "You are so lucky to have found
the one. I've been looking for so long and I keep looking, but I
just don't have any luck." I am stunned. I protest and the
Oriental man, meanwhile smiles proudly. I know I am already
married. I wear a wedding band. I know I have four children and
I know the soldier knows this too. I don't understand why I am
in this situation where they think I am connected to this man. I
am not in the least attracted to this man. I am even frightened
of him.


Suddenly, I remember that Gilles is missing and that most people
presume he is dead. They think I should be getting on with my
life, dating, etc. Then I clearly say to my two soldier friends
and the Oriental man: "Gilles will come back one day and I am
still married to him."


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April 28, 1992.

I am with a group of people and at one point, I separate from the
group and go to an upstairs room in a rooming house. The room
has a big window which overlooks a main street. When I look out
the window, I see a huge old style radio. It covers nearly the
entire width of the street and it is made out of wood. I can see
faded letters at the bottom of the radio and I read "Le Figaro".

Suddenly, someone is in the room. He sees what I see outside and
tells me that his family name used to be Figaro but he changed
it. He does not say why.

It dawns on me that 'Le Figaro" is the name of a newspaper and
that I see it on a radio. It puzzles me.

The scene changes. I see Thierry, My second son, skiing down a
mountain but there is no snow at all. It is an earth mountain.
He skisat a fair speed and when he approaches the bottom, he skis
over a big wooden ramp. I see all this a bit like a voyeur. I
don't think he knows I am watching. I am amazed and proud.


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April 23, 1992

Iam on the bus. I leave downtown... NO! I am waiting for my bus
on Portage Avenue, Winnipeg's biggest street.I have a knapsack at
my feet. A woman who sells bus tickets in a kiosque in the
middle of the boulevard calls me over because she says I have the
wrong ticket or the wrong amount of money. I run over to the
kiosque and as I am talking to her, I see my bus coming. I
panick, grab my ticket and hop on the bus but my knapsack stays
on the sidewalk. I am very worried about it. The bus takes a
new route and takes us to a section of town we don't know. It's
all marvellously well kept, colourful buildings with balconies
and flowers and suddenly, we find ourselves in a little market
area, very quaint, lovely and nicely smellin. The driver gives
us a sly look and lets us down to take a look and says he'll make
one round and pick us up. We, (a bunch of women) walk into a
house boutique. It's filled with crafts; there are gingerbread
cutouts with gingerbread cutout clothes you can put on
gingerbread men and women. There are all kinds of strange things
I've never seen before. The craftswoman comes out to meet us at
one point. She is a lovely Irish woman with a tiny red headed
baby whom she lies slanted on a little Laura Ashley type pillow.
This is all very well I thinkbut there's not really all that much
substance to all this. I walk out; climb back onto the bus and
reach a dock where we now get on the boat. I am flying around
above the boat, still worrying about my knapsack on Portage
avenue and worried because I am surrounded by water. Suddenly, I
have my packsack plus two other bags but I've lost my bike which
I had parked on the bike rack of someone's car in a parking lot,
and they've left with my bike. I think of what a fool I am.


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April 22, 1992

I am golfing with men. Wayne is there and Dan, someone I work
with. It's my shot and I start. I putt. It's the first hole
and it's very short. Wayne putts next. He shoots the opposite
way and I am mortified. I ask then why they didn't tell me in
what direction to shoot. Everyone says it's O.K., that it
doesn't matter what direction you shoot. In fact, no one laughed
when I shot; no one thought it was strange. For my next shot
though, and becuse I am still mortified, Wayne-Gilles (a
combination of both men) gives me a tip. there is an instrument
I can use to better my shot. It is a metal plate which I lay on
the ground and from which i tee off. However, the metal plate
looks like a spade and Wayne shows me how I have to attach it to
a handle. He holds the handle and I turn the spade which then
becomes a round metal object. It is hard work. I turn and
turnand ask if it's alright and he says it has to be very tight.
The tighter it is, the more chance it will help with my shot. So
he helps me. At first, we turn it together and then, I hold the
handle and he turns it as it has become too hard for me to trun.
It is difficult even for him. I feel confident this will help my
game and my work. I leave the grounds at one point, alittle
discouraged as I think of the hole in by backdoor screen, my
dusty lamps at home, all the housework there is to do, and my
career ambitions. It all seems so incompatible. I get to the
lobby of the French cultural centre and two Indian women are
there. They could be South American or Native. In any case, as
I enter the entrance to the lobby, they are waiting for me and
tell me: "We will help you put your house in order."


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