(no subject)
I am writing to you from the airplane, flying home for Thanksgiving break. I am asleep. This is the inside of a dream. I am dreaming that I went home and there was turkey, but I couldn't eat it. People kept laughing good-naturedly and insisting that I should eat it but I couldn't, so I got mad and fought with everyone and cried and then came back to Swarthmore having read only half of one of the two books I was supposed to finish, and a mysterious girl with a name I never heard before called my cell phone and asked if my Monday class was cancelled, and I said that I didn't think it was but I wasn't sure. And then I was in LaurenRS's house making spaghetti, and I ate fatty fried sausage, which was important because it was allowed by an exception to the rules. I was talking about Hebrew and then I was talking in Hebrew into a haunted apparatus - it cried and I soothed it to sleep with sounds. Then we were in Wharton and it was late and we were having tea and giggling, and LaurenS was sitting on my bed hugging my stuffed cow and then it was day and I was typing a detailed formal report about a professor I used to know, and LaurenRS was working, and then I hit my shrieking alarm clock and Lauren was curled up on the couch and murmering, and the whole campus was full of fog, and I was running late to class. I was so ashamed of myself for being late that when I got to class everyone was invisible to me and the room was full of embarrassment instead of people, and the blackboard was clean. I thought of walking around inside of the room and bopping the invisible professor and all the invisible students on the head, but then they would know I was late, so I turned around and glided home through the empty fog instead. And then I gave Lauren an envelope and she left and promised me something, and I sat on my plaid beadspread in my pajamas (which I was suddenly wearing) and I was a black woman making bread and I was in a library and a messy apartment and a car with a bike rack and Mad About You played in the background and then I was me again and I graded Semantics homework even though it's Monday, not Tuesday, and I exchanged cutesy out-of-character emails with the philosophy department chair:Subject: Letter about Alan Baker
Please, pretty please......
R
Don't worry! It's in the mail (in a strange red envelope)!
- other R
Worrying is my job!
But many thanks.
R
Then I glided to Ted's office through the fog like I was on a moving sidewalk. Of course he wasn't there because no one was anywhere normal, but on the way I saw Sophie and DP emerge out of grayness and told them about the weird emails and they laughed. I dropped off my grading outside of Ted's door, and then I saw Stifler and he gave me a hug and I made a clumsy joke about fog and video games, and then I was back in Wharton, and it was 4:30 and then it was 7:00 and I knew I should eat food but I wasn't hungry, but I thought if Micaya were here I could have Chinese food, and maybe she would materialize if I didn't smell so bad, so I took a shower and now my hair is dripping and cold and it smells like I'm a sophomore in high school, but Micaya isn't here, so I probably will float to Tarble and eat an impostor hamburger made out of beans. And in the meantime, you had better hope I don't wake up, dream livejournal readers, because I am a red king and you are just dream people, and if I left off dreaming about you, where do you suppose you'd be?
"Where I am now, of course," said Alice.
"Not you!" Tweedledee retorted contemptuously. "You'd be nowhere. Why, you're only a sort of thing in his dream!"
"If that there King was to wake," added Tweedledum, "you'd go out - bang! - just like a candle!"
"I shouldn't!" Alice exclaimed indignantly. "Besides, if I'm only a sort of thing in his dream, what are you, I should like to know?"
"Ditto," said Tweedledum.
"Ditto, ditto!" cried Tweedledee.
He shouted this so loud that Alice couldn't help saying "Hush! You'll be waking him, I'm afraid, if you make so much noise."
"Well, it's no use your talking about waking him," said Tweedledum, "when you're only one of the things in his dream. You know very well you're not real."
"I am real!" said Alice, and began to cry.
"You won't make yourself a bit realer by crying," Tweedledee remarked: "there's nothing to cry about."
"If I wasn't real," Alice said-half laughing through her tears, it all seemed so ridiculous-"I shouldn't be able to cry."
"I hope you don’t suppose those are real tears?"
Please, pretty please......
R
Don't worry! It's in the mail (in a strange red envelope)!
- other R
Worrying is my job!
But many thanks.
R
Then I glided to Ted's office through the fog like I was on a moving sidewalk. Of course he wasn't there because no one was anywhere normal, but on the way I saw Sophie and DP emerge out of grayness and told them about the weird emails and they laughed. I dropped off my grading outside of Ted's door, and then I saw Stifler and he gave me a hug and I made a clumsy joke about fog and video games, and then I was back in Wharton, and it was 4:30 and then it was 7:00 and I knew I should eat food but I wasn't hungry, but I thought if Micaya were here I could have Chinese food, and maybe she would materialize if I didn't smell so bad, so I took a shower and now my hair is dripping and cold and it smells like I'm a sophomore in high school, but Micaya isn't here, so I probably will float to Tarble and eat an impostor hamburger made out of beans. And in the meantime, you had better hope I don't wake up, dream livejournal readers, because I am a red king and you are just dream people, and if I left off dreaming about you, where do you suppose you'd be?
"Where I am now, of course," said Alice.
"Not you!" Tweedledee retorted contemptuously. "You'd be nowhere. Why, you're only a sort of thing in his dream!"
"If that there King was to wake," added Tweedledum, "you'd go out - bang! - just like a candle!"
"I shouldn't!" Alice exclaimed indignantly. "Besides, if I'm only a sort of thing in his dream, what are you, I should like to know?"
"Ditto," said Tweedledum.
"Ditto, ditto!" cried Tweedledee.
He shouted this so loud that Alice couldn't help saying "Hush! You'll be waking him, I'm afraid, if you make so much noise."
"Well, it's no use your talking about waking him," said Tweedledum, "when you're only one of the things in his dream. You know very well you're not real."
"I am real!" said Alice, and began to cry.
"You won't make yourself a bit realer by crying," Tweedledee remarked: "there's nothing to cry about."
"If I wasn't real," Alice said-half laughing through her tears, it all seemed so ridiculous-"I shouldn't be able to cry."
"I hope you don’t suppose those are real tears?"