more and more!

You had written a note about me, a life story of sorts, and someone turned it into a play. The stage was decorated in tissue paper flowers and had multiple levels, and like a doll house, the audience could see into each different scene as they all happened at once. For the finale, I frolicked out onto the floor in a grey heather leotard with a frilly pink ostrich tail, but halfway through became self-conscious about people looking at me. What followed was a series of nightmares involving pigeon massacres, Elliot Smith's haunted apartment, and witches trying to burn me with their blue eyes.

Mom asks, "What are you eating at night??"

Would I ever smell the wooden floors again?

I am dreaming in foreign languages again, and standardized tests. I was convinced I was really Answer C when the mumbling  Spanish voice was telling me that the correct answer was a new job next to me, but it was just my pillow and I woke up disoriented from having gotten stuck in the Science of Sleep world again. The new star keeps showing up everywhere, while the old ones are still hanging about during the day, hoping for a comeback. It's almost too much. Stuart and Snoopy explain my sentiments below. 

A new dreamsicle.

An illustrator had turned my book of poems into a graphic novel. I was proudly parading it around at a writing summer camp of sorts in the mountains, but the illustrations were all inside my copy of The Big Book of Illustration Ideas 2. Jenn was there and she told me that Ursula LeGuin read it and wanted to meet me. In the dream I loved LeGuin and was really excited, but actually I've only read one of her stories, and that was years ago. 

Oh and finally, my dreams have found a new superstar. Does this mean I'll stop dreaming of ghosts now? What if I don't want a new star? 

In the news I see pictures of people in the midwest with their faces covered in icicles, but here the sun is shining and it feels just like spring '07.