Movie dream

In the dream, they were in an enormous crowded place. Like a mall. They bought tickets to a movie, then he asked her to wait for him for a few minutes.

She waited.
She searched for him with her eyes.
She sent him text messages.
He never came back.

She couldn’t go in, she didn’t have a ticket.
The movie was sold out

She put her hands on her hips, frustrated, and felt something stuck to the back of her sweater. A movie ticket. Row D, seat 4.

She goes into the theater, and the man is there. Inpatient that she took so long. He is unwillingto admit that he’d asked her to wait, and says he didn’t answer her texts because he was inside the theater. It didn’t occur to him to step out.

There is another man sitting sitting in her assigned seat.

He is folding laundry. Some of it his, some of it theirs. He stands up to let her take her seat. The two men keep folding the laundry. She is frustrated. The movie starts, and the strange man is still standing in their row, folding socks.

She can’t see anything, because the man is standing in front of her. She asks him to leave, but he says he can’t because the laundry isn’t folded. She tells him to just take it and go, but her man says he can’t because the clothes are all mixed together. The two men keep folding, arguing intermittently about which socks are whose.

She finally gets up and wanders out into a parking lot. She can’t find her car, the parking lot is completely different than when she arrived.

Then she goes back inside, and it seems to be some sort of hospital.

She can’t find the Radiology department, and every time she asks an employee for help, they try to send her to admitting. She can never find the right admitting desk, every time she sees one, they send her to Radiology on the 4th floor. She should know where it is. She works there.

The elevators don’t ever have a button for 4. They also seem to move laterally in addition to vertically.

She gets to the Radiology department and they laugh and tell her it’s her day off. Remind her that she’s supposed to be going to that new movie. She said she was just there, but walked over to the hospital instead.

They told her there was no theater in their po-dunk little town. She couldn’t have walked over from there.

And then the alarm clock rang.

Are you…?

The other night I woke up in the middle of the night hearing these words in my head, like someone whispering:

Are you…? Hey. Are you?

I think I was awake. I remember waking up and hearing the words. I just heard them inside of my head.

Is it a question? Is it a doubt? A dream?

Are you afraid?
Are you good enough?
Are you going to?
Are you happy? Sad? Worried?

Am I …what?

It wouldn’t let me go back to sleep until I wrote it down, but it wouldn’t say anything else. I tossed around a bit promising to write it down later, but eventually gave up.

And my wrists ache from writing too much. And my shoulders. And my head wants me to stop thinking. And words want to come in through my eyes. And it is the middle of the fucking night and I am not feeding you any more words. I’m not.

And I all I think is “chickenheart.”**
So it looks like it’s another book hangover.

Maybe I need to cut back on my words. It’s becoming a problem.
Not like I’ve ever had any control of my word binges…

Or any other aspect of my life for that matter. I am as bingy about my words as I am about everything else. No, worse. I have been overindulging on words since I started reading at…three? Four?

A lot of words.

**From “My Notorious Life” which was OK and all, but really not good enough to keep me up at night.

And now I want an app that will track how many words I read. Just. Shoot. Me. Now.

Like funny ha-ha?

Isn’t it strange?


How people think I’m funny now.

Peculiar? Is that bad? You’re always making fun of “normal people.”

No, not funny strange. Funny like a comedian.

You *are* funny. You’ve always been funny.

But nobody used to think so.


Only a few people. The ones I wasn’t afraid to talk to. They always thought I was funny.

Because you are.

Yeah, but why does everyone notice now? They didn’t used to.

I did.

But hardly anyone else did. I have fans now. People I don’t even know think I am funny.

How do strangers even hear what you say?

Twitter. Facebook.

Strangers see you on Facebook?

Well, not total strangers. But they do on Twitter. And people I don’t know very well. Friends of friends. Someone told me I missed my calling.

Writing things on Facebook that people laugh at isn’t exactly a calling.

Not a very good one, anyway. Maybe they are trying to say that I have a small talent in a very small niche area. That knocks a bit of the good feeling out of it. It’s like I’m the patron saint of knick-knacks instead of mercy or something really awesome.

What’s wrong with knick-knacks?

Can we go back and try this conversation again? I really don’t like the way it’s going.


Isn’t it strange how many people think I’m funny now?

Not at all. They are all just realizing how wonderful you are! I have always known.

Better. Thanks for humoring me.

What? It’s pure truth. Cross my heart.

I hope you don’t die.