dream deniro, duh.

i'm just curious if i could post for seven days straight. would that make me feel fulfilled? would i consider myself a writer again? or will my inevitable angst over the content of said posts deflate the entire purpose of the assignment?

nevertheless, here i go.

this morning i had a wretchedly horrible and funny dream. my family and i were driving to robert deniro's house, where i was to be interviewed by a woman about my writing. i was excited. the long driveway was bordered by lots of farm animals, including baby pigs, who i couldn't wait to cuddle.

as the driveway ended it came upon an enormous house that overlooked the ocean. we walked out to the back and saw robert and his wife, and there were various kids there, at which point my children disappeared in the dream.

robert put his hand on my shoulder and told me that they had a wonderful recommendation from jacqueline onassis about me. i was pleased to hear it.

then the woman who was to interview me came to find me. she was blond. that's all i remember. she began, "can you tell me how your writing relates to life in 15th century japan?"

i paused, and said, "i'm sorry, i don't know how to answer that."

she then said, "how would you describe the anomalies in your writing in the context of the 20th century british economic state?"

i paused, blushed, and said, painfully, "i really don't know what to say."

she asked me one other question, and when i failed to answer again she disappeared. i started to wander the house to look for her, found alex, told him that we had to leave, because the woman was crazy; at which point he said okay and laid back down on the couch where he was taking a nap. i kept going around the maze of the fortress, and finally i saw the woman coming down the stairs.

"where were you?" i asked her.

"i went upstairs to cry." she said.

"i thought you were supposed to be smarter than this," she added.

pause. pause. let crazy dream moment sink deeper in subconscious. fucking hell.

the next thing that happened was that i was trying to stuff my thick, cozy-socked feet into tremendously high heels. then i woke up, so tired and exhausted. when i looked in the mirror i had frown lines on my forehead that had been etched in during my sleeping hours.

it was a rough morning.

issues? do you think i have issues? do i have to be so fucking obvious in my DREAMS?

and where was robert deniro to stick up for me? better yet, where was jackie o?

i dream, and dream, and dream. . .