Last night I dreamt that Dan and I were considering a move to Catalina. We went there to investigate job opportunities, and I ended up at a local medical clinic run by Andrea Zuckerman. The position I applied for was office manager, which appealed to me because in my office was a bed, where I was expected to work all day. The office also had a huge green leopard as a mascot who came and hung out with me on the bed while I was talking to Andrea, who confessed to me that she wished she'd become a lawyer instead of a doctor (guess Jessie cornered that market on that career path, huh, AHHndrea?).
So I was feeling all happy and optimistic on the ferry ride home when Dan and I ran into our downstairs neighbors, who started buying us drinks and got us drunk and then rushed home ahead of us and switched our apartments so that they got the one with the roof deck, and nothing we did or said could convince them to switch back.
Then the dog woke me up.
Then I fell back asleep and dreamt that I was in a fiction class with a famous instructor who looked like Kevin Spacey. I hadn't written anything for class, and so, in a panic, I submitted a plagarized poem written by my best friend Ada in fifth grade. The poem goes like this:
A pride of lions, so superior
All together a mass of strength
All together, never bothered*
Sipping slowly by the pool.
As they sit they have no worries
All is silent, all is still
On the open plain
In which their awesome power rules.
Mr. Spacey made me read it aloud, and after I did there was a silence. Sarah, my onetime grade-school academic nemesis, pulled out an IKEA catalog and pointed out that the poem bore a striking resemblance to the assembly instructions for something she had recently bought. Then Mr. Spacey made an announcement reminding everyone that we were supposed to be writing fiction for adults, not children. Then I left the room and cried. Then I tried to write a story about two major league outfielders playing catch who both struggle with an overwhelming desire to nail the other in the face with a fastball, but it wasn't working, so I cried some more.
Then the shower woke me up.
*this line isn't accurate, but for some freaky reason I remember the rest of her 5th grade poem word for word. This is probably because my own poem for the assignment went something like "A horse stands behind a stone wall/He is very tall/He is having a ball/That is all" and I was blown away by her effort. Also, she drew a very nice picture of lions sitting at a lake, and my horse and wall drawing bit.