in my dream last night i was spekaing a very confident german with these two astonishingly-pretty men, & i don't speak german when i'm awake at all, & suddenly one of the pretty men turned to me & asked me in french why i make things & then hide them.
in the dream i halted & stuttered. i avoided the question by trying to explain, still in french, the backstory of the boxcar children books. i wouldn't look him in the eye & pretended it was because i was busy putting tiny ceramic dishes onto a shelf. i think we were in a store in yellow springs.
:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:later in the night i dreamt i was seeing a doctor who wanted to put me on psychotropic medications, possibly anafranil, & i was sitting there in the office leaning over my knees saying, "but what i want is a drug that will make me like a block of ice, like chekhov said to be."
when i woke up it was snowing, it had snowed in the night & the building across the street was unusually picturesque. inside i was burning up.
