the elusive elucie
I had the sweetest dream last night. Or at least, the part I remember was sweet. Prologue to telling of dream: I've been reading this collection of short stories by Colette I got from the library because I loff her and I wish I was French, though maybe not the French nudey dancers who are trapped by their social status and poorly used by their lovers and die of a backstreet abortion like she writes about.
So anyway in my dream I was at the airport because I had just gotten off the plane from Goucher. I went into a big baggage claim room, but of course since it was a dream the room actually had no conveyor belts or, in fact, baggage. A huge table sat in the middle of the room and I was sitting around it with lots of people, most of which I didn't know. My cell phone buzzed so I picked it up and looked at the screen. It read, "Colette" with the little phone symbol. OBVIOUSLY I picked it up. In the dream I remembered that I had written her a sort of fan letter, appreciative of her writing and all, because apparently in the dream she was not dead. Coletter had this lovely French accent and she said all sorts of nice things that I wish I could remember, about being the future and carrying on the beauty and stuff that does not sound as profound once I write it down. I think she called me little girl. It was pretty awesome, maybe next time I can get Agatha Christie to text me or something.
I told Daddy this morning and he said, "I hope you're not dismissing the notion that her spirit was contacting you to tell you thank you for reading and give you hope and guidance." Oh how I love him.
So anyway in my dream I was at the airport because I had just gotten off the plane from Goucher. I went into a big baggage claim room, but of course since it was a dream the room actually had no conveyor belts or, in fact, baggage. A huge table sat in the middle of the room and I was sitting around it with lots of people, most of which I didn't know. My cell phone buzzed so I picked it up and looked at the screen. It read, "Colette" with the little phone symbol. OBVIOUSLY I picked it up. In the dream I remembered that I had written her a sort of fan letter, appreciative of her writing and all, because apparently in the dream she was not dead. Coletter had this lovely French accent and she said all sorts of nice things that I wish I could remember, about being the future and carrying on the beauty and stuff that does not sound as profound once I write it down. I think she called me little girl. It was pretty awesome, maybe next time I can get Agatha Christie to text me or something.
I told Daddy this morning and he said, "I hope you're not dismissing the notion that her spirit was contacting you to tell you thank you for reading and give you hope and guidance." Oh how I love him.