March 17, 1989.

I walk along a huge deserted prairie. Suddenly, I am in front of
a barn-shaped building. It is a new garage we have built. The
front is open like a doll house and I see inside, a smaller
building shaped like a small house. I think it is an outhouse,
but someone tells me that it includes a shower too. I think that
is very useful. That way, you don't have to dirty the house to
take your shower. As I am about to step out of the barn-garage,
I see a sort of black shiny slab between the barn and outside.
Before I can figure out what it is, I have stepped into it with
my white Reeboks and I realize it is cow purin. I have some up
to my ankles.

I am at the Bathroom again at my aunt's. A strange bathroom, as
big as a bedroom. A young Native boy with very long greasy hair
is there. I must wash his hair. He wants t o cut it too but I
tell him that all important successful Indian men wear their hair
long. He cuts it anyway and then tells me his parents will be
angry at me as he had an appointment at the hairdresser's the
following week. I say he should have told me before but that it
doesn't natter. The hairdresser will repair the damage.


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