Tuesday, May 17, 2005

One year ago today, I dreamed I was waiting in line for the bathroom at a hospital, behind a little girl with a deformed head. Somebody had yelled for us not to go in there.

Last night, I dreamed I was at writer's conference in a big hotel. The power was out, so the whole place was dark. The readings and panels were held by candlelight. I was there with Claire and Joe. Joe wanted to leave. He was drunk and sulking over something, slumped in one of the overstuffed chairs in the lobby, hiding beneath his baseball cap. Claire wanted to stay. She was thrilled by the lightless ambiance and the gathering of so many creative minds. I was torn. The conference was cool, but I was also very drunk and couldn't fathom sitting quietly, listening to editors relate the gritty realities of publishing.
posted at 5:57 PM |