Last night, as I lay sleeping in our cute but as yet curtainless new home, I had two Very Distrubing Dreams:
#1: 11:00pm – 2:30am
For reasons that weren’t made apparent to me, I had killed and dismembered some child and was subsequently trying to hide the kids parts from a policeman who stopped me for running a red light. (No, it was not Jon Benet; yes, the policeman was cute; no, I didn’t do him.) This one was particularly unsatisfactory because nothing seemed to happen, it was all in medias res, with the cop hanging over me and me bumbling my way through numerous excuses. Before long, however, I moved on to…
#2: 3:20am – 6:00am
I’m planning this theatre festival–what kind? I dunno–and Skinny Puppy (yes, that Skinny Puppy) wants to make a donation of $1,000 to the cause. I get their call in the middle of math class. A math class taught entirely in French. There’s a lot of other stuff, too–Korean girls laying down in the street in front of steam rollers to protest violence in the Middle East, men mastubating in stairways that are clearly marked “no masturbating”, and so on, but it’s too confusing too remember now.
I guess they could be the result of childhood trauma. Or trepidation about the global political situation. Or general 30-something angst. But more than anything, it probably comes from eating a bunch of crap before bedtime.
Boyfriend, I love you dearly, but next time I bat my eyes and ask you to rustle up a late-night batch of Ro-Tel dip and potato chips, do me a favor: look me squarely in the eyes and say “hell freakin’ no.” I’ll thank you later.
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