By now, my daughter should have been admitted to her test room. She was driven over by a volunteer driver who kindly pulled over in our neighborhood five minutes earlier than our agreed time of 8 AM. And her mother got a minute or two to go over her panick attack in the last night's dream: I had to lose my shoes on the way somewhere, and then when I was hungry, there was no spoon or chopsticks to eat with! What about my daughter? The only panick she was having over breakfast was the fact that she once found a taxi driver could recite some classical poems that she couldn't!