Farewell my concubine

I never remember my dreams but I always remember the (few, very few) with petronia in them. Last night had us all (us = work and various nonexistent family of mine) invited by her to a-- happening? cultural event? art installation?- at her college. In Montreal. That night. Which I and Z from work went to, wondering periodically about getting back for work in the morning given that it was snowing and we weren't sure if the trains ran every hour or not; while I roamed the empty diffusely lit tull-draped corridors of the college and wondered what the point of this installation was, since the students I saw when I saw students were just doing studently things, sitting at tables and jawing. The real action was elsewhere, vaguely heard in the distance but never findable by me. The story of my life, of course.

The dream was otherwise notable for having no babies in it and placing Montreal two hours or so away from Toronto.
( But why was I dreaming about petronia... )