I'm at a camp somewhere - it's not just a resort, I seem to be learning something, doing practical things. All I know about it is the outside is nice; I'm kind of liking it here, but I've had about enough of it now. There are a lot of people here, some of them I know, some I don't. If it's not Sunday morning right now, then it's Sunday afternoon, and this guy who is like a counsellor - at least he's not just a participant either (we seem to have some official capacity, let's put it like that - we're not running the place, but we're not altogether guests, either) - and he has come back from somewhere. I expected a friend of ours to be with him; a young man who's kind of like Javier, in a way - he has that place, he's about the same age - sort of the new guy who's really good and everybody likes him and he's always around. And he's not with him and I'm wondering where he's gotten to. He's been off somewhere like to the store or something, on an errand into town, maybe. So I ask about him, and he says that he got called away, there was something he needed to go back for, and mentioning that it's about time I went back, too. He has a Sunday paper or there are some Sunday papers just now brought in - one of them is the Herald, of course, it's nice and clean and new and fresh, like Sunday papers start out - and of course I want to see the Lottery number, so I get hold of the paper and start looking in the front section. There's the comics the way they usually are, but usually for the weekday pages, inside the section, and they're also black and white (which the Herald's aren't at the moment) - anyhow, I don't get to the number before something else happens. This paper has a sort of a bug stuck to it - it falls out, and it's not just a bug; it's a ball of bugs. It's as though a bunch of these beetle-y sort of things have clubbed up together - maybe they've done this to hibernate, or something (I don't know why they would do such a thing, but they have), and they look dead; they look all motionless and dry. But just the same, even dead, I don't want to mess with bugs, so I figure I had better get rid of it. And it's a real challenge to scoop it up - the thing is maybe almost baseball-sized, real big bugs; they're orange, and shiny, and they literally are sort of side-by-side grouped together, making, mostly, a ball. There's a lot more than 5 or 6 of them, I should think. Now, I've decided I've got to take this thing away, of course, and so I scoop it up on the paper. The thing is, I don't do it quite there - for some reason, I have now decided to carry it to my mother's - so the next thing I'm aware of is being at her house. She isn't there; I'm curious about that and wondering when she's going to get back. [This is not my mother's house as it is in the real world] - this is more nearly like my grandparents' house - it's middleaged-old and has this "rustic" garage to it, that has your basic up-and-down door - it's cobwebby and musty in there, and somewhere along the line I've become aware of another ball of insects. This must have been at the house - I don't know where it came from. I've been into the garage, thinking I was gonna go into the house through it, and realizing they weren't there, went back outside to see what I could see there, and gone up on this sort of little porch, maybe to a side door of the house - it's right next to a large bush/tree - there's lots and lots of plants all around the house, in this nice summery sunshine, hot and all that - and this is where the other bug-thing comes into play. It's definitely alive - although I might have suspected that it was dying. I decide I had better get rid of it altogether, so I'm going to get a shovel and pound 'em apart. I go into the garage again, and first I see a short spade and pick that up - realize it's kind of small, look around again a little bit, find a real shovel, a long one with a good-sized blade on it, go back outside, and I find these things, and when I start pounding on 'em, it seems that I've got the short spade in my hand after all. Well, that's silly. So I put it down, pick up the shovel - which I have in fact got with me - now one of these things, that was up on the porch, seems to have been coming to life, sort of. That is why I got disturbed and dropped it. It was like it was giving birth to another bunch of bugs, which may have been in fact the case; on the bottom of the ball something looked like it was trying to break out of it, and I decide, "We got enough bugs!" (Don't ask me how I know that these were undesirable bugs, but that was my conclusion.) I am back here, starting to find the thing and pound the snot out of it, which I do. I'm sitting next to Nancy Gaines with a young girl who is sitting in front of us - we're with another bunch of people - she doesn't know us - we're visiting (and we may be sharing the LT, I'm not sure - but it's something we're there for that's new and unknown to these other people) and we haven't been entirely accepted yet. She's so far been nice to us, that's good - she's blond, looks like a nice kid. Nancy is (doing something like tying her shoelace) and talking about Kathy Carson - her name comes up in some way, and the girl says something like, "Who's Kathy?" We say one or two things about her, and I say, "...and Nancy's gonna marry her!" And Nancy says, "Yeah! (something something) we're going to get married." The girl is looking at us askance - she doesn't say anything, and I realize that this may not have been the most opportune moment to say that. But we did say it, and I go on to say something about what the girl has been talking to me about earlier. She has perhaps written a letter or something, - maybe it was poetry - maybe she was telling me something - all I know is, I know something from her that the others don't know, and I'm talking about her and how this is so interesting, and I quote from her a bit. The 2nd thing that I say from her that's a quote, I suddenly realize, "Oh, hell, this is a direct quote of something that's privileged information, that's real personal, and I have not asked her permission to talk about this." I am breaking confidentiality, and I am thoroughly ashamed of myself. I feel myself getting hot, and I'm sure I'm turning red, and I just feel mortified; looking at her, I'm saying, "I am really, really sorry - I did not mean to do that." Of course, she not realizing that I have a code of confidentiality at all, looks to me like she doesn't really understand what I'm so disturbed about, and that it really was okay with her. And she doesn't know that it might not have been okay with her - it hadn't occurred to her. I am really, really sorry about it.