Dream Diary Post 5

Searching for sticky buns, infatuated with sticky buns. They were sitting in the counter, and then they were in the refrigerator. I wanted to eat them even though they had pecans on them, I would not be hindered.

We were in this arcade/airport/mall amalgamation, a combination of a dusty carnival Nathan's lookalike, a shaved ice shop the kind that had mangos and condensed milk shaved ice that I liked, and an Indian food stand that served samosas and tandoori chicken. Clearly I had Asia (namely Singapore and Taiwan) on the brain.

I went into the Nathan's lookalike and ordered a school lunch style pasta with meatballs and a happy meal with chicken nuggets and stale crinkle cut fries. Each meal cost about $18. Clearly I had overpriced airport/circus food on the brain.

And then a flurry of bird-brained chaos ensued. I forgot my happy meal, I couldn't find my keys. I went outside ( which looked like the entrance of Berkeley, and it was a sunny day) and got distracted by all the students with hats. I went back inside, and couldn't find my ring. My parents and family showed up, ready for our flight. I bought another side of fries and hid them in my pocket, but I still couldn't find my happy meal. My wallet hurt from the wasted $18. I found my keys. The cashier thought I was crazy.

I dreamt that George Eliot wrote Black Beauty, and that someone told me she also wrote a sequel, called Black Cat, about a kitten that wore a red ribbon bow. I remembered watching the cartoon version of Black Beauty over and over again in summer camp, the smell of damp mulch as we lined up to go into one of the classrooms on yet another rainy day. I felt a heavy rock of dread in my stomach when I remembered the scene where the girl had to give Black Beauty away.


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Creative Exercise No. 3: The Passive Opportunist

I realized that I have the delusional hope that opportunity is contagious.  That if I just stand next to it, I could catch it.


All obstacles can be boiled down to time and money.  Though if you have enough money, you could buy time.

Creative Exercise No.1 : A man and his daughter/son on the subway

I think she was a daughter.  She was dressed rather androgynously, but I had a feeling she had shoulder-length curls underneath her auburn-gold knitted hat, contrasted with a green toggle coat that was a little too kelly green for a boy under current gender norms.

The father was explaining himself to the girl, why they weren't doing this or that, because he was tired, his day went okay, but if they did that she wouldn't have enough time to finish homework right, by the time they got back to Brooklyn.  The girl, while tiny in body and voice, oddly had the poise of an equal and peer, humoring a distracted and preoccupied friend. She laughed just politely (though good-naturedly) enough at his frantic explanations that my hypothesis of their relationship ranged from father to uncle to family friend to kidnapper.

New Year's Resolutions a Month Late

In typical me fashion my vehement denial of something got me thinking about that very something I've been denying.

My New Year's Resolutions:

1.  To grow at least 3 plants (mint, ginger, onions, perhaps)

2.  To put out something creative at least every other day ( I was gonna say everyday but just the thought of that drives me insane)

3. Be a nicer, kinder, more empathetic person.  Not just polite and friendly, but genuinely care about the well-being of other humans.
4. To use my right hand more often for tasks I usually use my left hand for (brushing my teeth, combing my hair, cooking, etc.) 

An instance of discredited Indignation

Me speaking to myself, to everyone : why are my legs so swore 

Brother : they're swollen? Your legs are swollen?

Me: Ugh No! Swore!--Sore! Dammit. 

The Visceral Perception of the Embarrassment of a Stranger

It was Santa Con.

I had just moved to a seat on the opposite side of the subway to avoid one of the swaying drunk girls that may or may not have been ready to vomit.

A bottle blonde in a elf outfit playfully sat in the lap of a brown haired moderately good looking man next to me, who chuckled at whatever the blonde girl was saying.  I was attempting to deduce whether they were a couple or a couple of strangers when the man appeared to take out his phone to ask for her number.  The girl continued to smile but started to stiffen just the slightest bit, seemingly suddenly uncomfortable with the situation. She slowly doled out her number digit by digit while he scrambled painstakingly to record her number digit by digit, frantically aware of the squeal of the train wheels as we reached the next stop.

As he feverishly tried to verify the last four digits "six-oh-two-what? Six-oh-two-what?" The subway doors slid open and the blond skipped off the man's lap hurriedly and rejoined her drunken girlfriend.

He watched the girl scamper away, mini skirt and bare legs. The man shrugged and turned to me and the other surrounding passengers with a forced laugh and "ah, whatever" while we smiled a curt "we'll-pretend-that-wasn't-embarrassing-for-you" smile.   The elderly man standing in front of me sagely commented " looks like you used up all your luck this year, man."

food food food

I hate the word food, why can't they come up with a better name for it? Food reminds me of feed, which reminds me of the tiny hard yellow grains we throw at the animals at the petting zoo.  Sustenance is too technical.

But I love food.  I love love love it, eating it, thinking about it, watching it being made, looking at pictures of it.  It's such a cliche, everyone is obsessed with food these days.  But it's art that touches  all the senses.  You can taste it, smell it, touch it when you make it, feel it in your mouth, listen to it crackle, crumble sizzle, pour.  Admire how it looks-- whether it be a comforting mound of potatoes or delicately placed au jus drizzle.

sneaking spoonfuls of potato salad from the refrigerator

that warm spiced salty crispy creamy texture of that first french fry that you wrap your mouth around after what seems like a tortuously long 7 minutes waiting for your meal

the crunch and sweet tartness of a roasted brussel sprout soaked in balsamic vinegar

the pudding-like softness and chili infused meatiness of mapo tofu

I should find another hobby