Help me interpret my dream

Ok, so I had an odd dream last night. In the first part that I can remember, I was back at my old high school, North Central, in a utility closet with Pookie from New Jack City, and someone else. After we smoked a bunch of crack out of a light bulb, I left the closet to go to orchestra class.

In orchestra class, we were playing a piece that included a cello solo. Now, I don't know what it's like playing cello on crack in real life, but in my dream, it was really, really difficult. So, naturally, I messed up the rhythm big time. Mr. Holmes, the orchestra director at North Central during my junior and senior years, wasn't too happy, and wrote the two half-notes and four quarter-notes comprising the solo (it was really easy) on the board. He then proceeded to condescendingly count them out for me in front of the whole class. In my crack addled state, I wasn't going to take this, and screamed: "Who the hell do you think I am? An amateur??? I've played the SHOSTAKOVITCH CELLO CONCERTO for crying out loud!!!!" This is not that odd, I guess, because I have actually played that one. It's strange, the stuff you remember about yourself in your dreams, considering how different reality is while you're in them.

Anyway, he said something in response to this, but I forget what it was. This pissed me off even more, and I stormed off towards my cello case, declaring: "I QUIT!" About half the orchestra started to pack up and leave, which they clearly should have, me being orchestra president and all. Then, our concertmistress got up in my face about me quitting, and I started to break down in tears, talking about how when Mr. Dennis (the orchestra director my freshman year) was there, "every second of orchestra class was a joy. Pure joy!" Keep in mind that I am still really high on crack at this point.

I think I ended up not quitting orchestra, but, regardless, the next thing I remember, I was walking outside (though my surroundings looked nothing like the outside of the high school), consulting my schedule and looking for the "French House" where my theology class was going to take place. I guess it was the first day of school or something. I walked through the enormous pastoral campus where my high school was now located, until I came upon my sister, who was getting out of a big pickup truck. I remember thinking it was odd that she was there, since she was supposed to be in Ecuador, since she actually is in Ecuador right now. I dismissed it though. It's strange how things like that happen in dreams, where you know something's not right because it's not that way in real life, but you just go with it anyway, because you're just aware enough that it's a dream. Anyway, I told her about the orchestra crisis (I had come down off my crack high at this point), and she pointed me to the French House. It turned out to be a really run-down brownstone off in some residential neighborhood somewhere. As soon as I went inside, I woke up.

The End.