I went back to my interrupted project, which involved working with a team of three unfamiliar people near a large, almost empty pool. I had been reading a long, prescient quote from 1866 regarding race relations when Carol first asked for my help. I could no longer read aloud so I tried to get someone to take over that role but everyone drifted away and I puttered around for a while until she came back to say she was done with my tongue.
I went back to her house to retrieve it, but now it was in two pieces and I wasn't sure how to put it back in my mouth. Carol had gone, but there were three boys in the house and I asked one of them to open his mouth so I could see how his tongue worked. The first kid wasn't old enough to understand my request, but another kid was very helpful. I thought I had it all figured out but as I held the pieces together and lifted them to my mouth, they grew and changed from tonguestuff to corrugated cardboard, with tabs at the back. Since this was a dream, I was not disturbed by the transformation. I continued my attempt to shove this big, dry mass in and then I woke up. First thing I did was wiggle my tongue and I was sincerely relieved to discover that it was again part of me.