Dreams

I dreamed that a woman had made a bunch of colorful claymation circus-themed dioramas for her portfolio, hoping to illustrate for a children's book. I loved them. I introduced her to my editor. He liked them a lot. This was a conference and many editors and authors were there. I didn't know anyone. People were asking a handsome man in blue shirt for his autograph. Must be an author, I thought. I wanted to make a book of poems like the Japanese poet who I like Nano Sakaki. He just wrote and shared them with his friends and eventually it became a book.

Then I was running in Grand Central Station to catch a train to Larchmont and when I got to the ticket booth everything had changed. They didn't use tickets anymore. They laughed at me. "It's been a while," I said. They asked for my driver's license to overlay some black and white form with oval holes in it for my ticket. There were young women using a Xerox machine to take glammy photos of themselves face down on the glass for their ticket.

My editor had found a place for me to stay while I was in town. He found 'Africa House' on the East Side in Providence. The house was jammed with beds everywhere. One child had a pillowcase printed with a black dog from a Disney movie. The house was crowded with African adults in traditional long robes and caps walking around. I was suddenly claustrophobic and asthmatic. I had trouble finding my way to the front door. I thought the housing inspector of Woonsocket wouldn't like this either. I said to DJ. "I am wide awake and I don't want to keep everyone up. Thank you, but I can drive home. I live only 17 miles away. My old blue Volkswagon-bug awaited me.

My friend Francine was offering me a colorful Indian print dress "for only three dollars" she said. I wasn't sure I'd wear it. I was feeling that three dollars was a lot for something I may never wear. I ought to buy it and give it to someone else, I thought. I woke up. It was 3:50 AM.