I am tired and want to go home to my parents' for the weekend, but Jock has heard his play will be presented that night and he wants to see it. He turned to his wife and says, "Let's go see it." She is upset and says, "You go, I can't." He's upset. Why can't she go? She sounds like my mother, annoyed and not willing to be truthful. She says in a passive aggressive way, "No reason, really." I guess if she calls the nurse and sees if an ice pack on her knee will help, she can go. I am tense because it is clear to me as they argue that she's probably on her period and doesn't want to say. Jock keeps pressing her and I restrain my strong urge to interrupt and explain all the unspoken stuff going on. She then asks if I need to go to the bathroom, or I said, "I guess I'll go home now and not go to the play myself. I need a bathroom." "We'll use mine at the church," she says and gets up. What a pain. It's farther but, oh, well, I follow them up a hill along the shoreline. Mud squishes under foot. Now it's a cliff and as I climb up, Jock has a conversation with a young man from the church about a mutual client they work with who is a very evil, dangerous guy. Jock is giving him advice on how to work with him as I now have to go in the tiny, strange door of the church. It's a triangle opening with ropes of twine as a sort of archway opening big enough to stick my foot through. I say, "This is too small. I don't want to go in." Jock encourages me. I sit on the edge of the cliff and gently slide one foot (right) into the opening and squeeze myself slowly through (see drawing). It is easier than I thought it would be. I am surprised.