Homemade Blueberry Jam

Last night I dreamt I was in a supermarket and there was a display of blueberries on a pallet. I stood on the berries and mashed them between my toes. My friend and her nine-year-old daughter were there. I said to the daughter, "Look, you can make jam!" and she said, "I don't think so!" Just as she said that I toppled the pallet, flipping it over, and fell on the blueberries. When I got up, my whole back was stained purple. I ran out of the store. I turned my pullover inside out to hide the blueberry stains.

I was walking fast along a country road. Then I remembered that for some reason all of my musical instruments were packed up and waiting back at the store, and I had to go get them. When I returned there were supermarket guys mopping up the blueberry mess. My white T-shirt had a purple stain on the left shoulder. They will know it was me, I thought. A woman cop appeared holding her shiny metal handcuffs while asking me to explain myself. I noticed she wore red fingernail polish. I explained I didn't think I had done anything wrong because the berries were all brown and obviously old. I had decided to show my friend's daughter how you could make jam. I hadn't realized this was not okay until she had reacted negatively. I kept tapping the policewoman on the arm to emphasize my story while repeating "You know what I mean?" and she kept backing away. I thought I am only convincing her that I am crazy, but she was listening to me carefully, if warily. I woke up before she could arrest me.