I’d never taken a camera apart before, but I figured, How hard can it be?
I disassembled the camera, spread its various components on the type of long table you use when you’re having a garage sale, and started cleaning those components, one by one. There was all sorts of stuff in them, but mostly pollen grains that if you looked closely enough were tiny little flowers.
Some people came up to the table.They were completely oblivious to me and began dumping stuff on the table, on top of my carefully disassembled camera.
A man glanced at me carelessly and said, Why should you get to monopolize this table? It’s a common space.
This made sense to me although, of course, it was a pain in the ass.
So, I proposed that I’d get half the table, and he could get the other half of the table.
I began to move the components over—carefully, carefully, to keep them in the order I’d have to put them back into the camera.
The man asked me what they were, and I began to tell him, getting really into the story, being very cute and vivid in my choice of words, when I realized, Wait! He doesn’t give a fuck. He asked you because he sees you as someone he’s graciously being nice to. Later he will tell his friends, “I was nice to the old lady.”
There was one more component to clean and put back in the camera. I wasn’t quite sure how it fit, though.
You don’t have to be Dr. Fraud to plumb the depths of that dream.
I’ve been nervous about The Novel. Thinking, You’re old; you’re irrelevant. Nobody will want to read it.
What was really odd about the dream, though, was that it was the third in a series of four dreams I had throughout the night, a dream polyptych as it were.
Each of the dreams was extraordinarily vivid. You’ve gotta remember this, I would tell myself when I woke up from one.
But I didn’t write any of them down because I wanted to go back to sleep.
Not sure how I managed to remember this one.
It was grey and gloomy all day yesterday.
Did I want to tromp in that?
No, I did not.
So, instead I pursued the elusive dopamine hit by getting my hair cut:
Quite the improvement, this.
My hair was getting terribly long and weedy.
Also RTT texted me in the morning: Can you bring me soup and rub my back? I’m really sick.
Some kind of respiratory thing.
I reeled off a long list of Things He Ought To Be Doing For Self-Care that ended with, And you really need to get a COVID test—
Oh, I have a can of Fabreze, he told me. So, every hour or so, I spray it to see if I can still smell.
Of course, as his mother and a former member of the medical profession, I could not approve of that.
But it did make me laugh.
And secretly, I thought it was kind of clever. Crossposted from Dreamwidth.