Ceci n'est pas une pipe
Despite any advice I may have been given in the past or any that may be solicited after I recount this, I do not think I will, should or even can talk to my high school band instructor. Two afternoons ago, during a nap, I had what makes roughly the 15th nightmare over the past seven years involving me being confronted by the instructor. I think I've recounted this here before but I'll summarize. After I didn't do well on an exam that placed me last chair at the end of the fall semester my senior year I quit band by leaving my uniform and instrument on my chair. I wasn't an important musician but I heard the man was confused and upset by how I quit. We haven't spoken.
The dream I had involved him running up to me and calling me over. I dream-thought, "Oh no, he's going to confront me about it all and yell at me." No, he instead yelled at me for lying on my weekly practice chart. It was like lying on a time card for work in some way. So we had a shouting match where I called him out on being mean to students and knocked over trophies. Later a large group of people were watching a recorded performance of the band, excluding me, performing their Pink Floyd routine (that I actually participated in) in England. Some were criticizing it and it was bad but I wanted to be defiant and I cheered the band on. Some strange-looking man near me scoffed and told me, "Take your drama elsewhere, Mr. LJ." I stood up and started to yell at him and push him. Security was called and I was dragged out while flipping everyone off and grabbing my crotch.