Thursday morning.

The dreams I’ve had:

It’s Z’s birthday (which it is, in waking life, next Tuesday), and I don’t know whether I should send greetings, or how, and then someone gives me something to give to him, so I decide to pass it along, and it makes me feel better to have something to give to him anyway, and it’s not too much—in fact, it’s a small plastic bag of breakfast cereal, like Lucky Charms without the marshmallows, and the corner of the bag is ripped open so the non-charms kind of spill out if you hold it at the wrong angle, and I wrap it up in paper that doesn’t stem the flow of renegade cereal, and break into his apartment while he’s at work, and wander around the kitchen trying to figure out where to leave it so that he’ll see it but it won’t freak him out, you know, so it will be a nice present, and I’m scattering cereal all over his kitchen in the process and it occurs to me that now he’ll have to clean up the mess but it’ll just have to be that way because I need to get out of there before he comes home, so I decide to leave the package next to the sink, and there’s no card so I take out a Sharpie and write “Happy Birthday,” but then I can’t remember his name, and I start to panic, and people are coming in and out and giving me odd looks (“It’s okay,” I tell them, “I’m the evil ex-girlfriend”), so I just choose a name, and leave the package bleeding out bad cereal on the counter, and it reads, “Happy Birthday, Jeff!”—and I think, Maybe that’s right, but I know that it’s not.

What happened in waking life:

My car died.

2 thoughts on “Thursday morning.

  1. Woah! I don’t usually like hearing about other people’s dreams, but I was riveting. I can’t even begin to get my head around the symbolism and metaphors in there,

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