As long as I'm brain-dumping, I should mention the dream I had two nights ago, which I longed to tell about here but couldn't yet.
I was staying in a high-rise crummy hotel for a few days, trying to negotiate a place for Hec and Emmett and me to rent long-term, wandering around a grey industrial town to interview with potential landlords and then repair to my lonely digs in the dingy hotel. After one such interview, at which the skeevy Russian potential landlord's skeevy Russian son had stared hard at me the entire time, I came back to the hotel to find the phone ringing.
"Hello?"
"Ah, uh, hallo, Meees Smeiii. This is son of landlord. I vish to esk you, vill you come to my church this week to pray with me?"
"I beg your pardon, what?" (Why did I say that? I knew perfectly well what he was asking.)
"I vould like you at my church, with me, praying together. Will you go out to church with me?"
I drew myself up stiffly on the crummy little bed, even though he was on the other end of the phone and couldn't see me. "I beg your pardon, but I happen to be MARRIED. And PREGNANT."
There was a pause, then "GO WARRIORS!"
Following which he laboriously unpacked the metaphor, explaining that he did not mean to cheer on a professional sports team, but was speaking indirectly of my husband's vigorous sperm.
Last night, by way of contrast, I dreamed I went to Target and, after somebody else bumped into a display, folded towels. There was a moment of excitement when a colorful hot-air balloon landed in a shimmering pool outside, but it just turned out to be the beginning of a Tupperware demonstration.
I imagine my subconscious late last night rummaging through row after row of beat-up file cabinets, glancing wildly at the clock and muttering, "It's what o'clock? She's in REM again? Shit! Fuck! Shit!... Aaah, I got nothin'."