Cleolinda Jones (cleolinda) wrote,
Cleolinda Jones
cleolinda

Grrrrr

So. I was reading Marie Antoinette this morning, logy on cold medicine, and fell asleep. For reasons I do not quite yet understand, I had a dream about Brad Pitt. And it was the most awesome dream EVER. And I'm not even all that huge a fan or anything. Yeah, nice guy, interesting roles, the "Watch Brad's legs in Troy!" promo is on my Windows Media Player 24/7 these days, sure, fine, whatever. Now, ten years ago when the Other Emily (Not the Lovely Emily) and I were agog over the one-two punch of Interview with a Vampire and Legends of the Fall and every heterosexual girl and several closeted boys were poring over the People's Sexiest Man Alive cover that autumn every spare moment between classes... all right, that would have made sense. In fact, I tend not to dream about things or people I think about a lot, for the simple reason that... I already think about them a lot. I tend to dream about the things that are simmering below the surface, that aren't being addressed or want to get out. I dunno. Maybe my brain was tired of that Windows Media Player ad and wanted to sweep it out of the corner once and for all. All I know is, Brad is a very good kisser and I hate my mother because she called me on the phone right as the dream was getting good--or rather, the dream had been good, except for the fact that we were sitting on the couch in the den with my PARENTS in the room, for chrissakes, so we were going to go downstairs but then Sister Girl was unexpectedly down there, and we were like, Uh, hi, and I was all like, You wanna get something to drink?, and giving Sister Girl the GET OUT OF HERE stinkeye, and she just thought it was hilarious, and for some reason there was, like, a grocery store in my basement rec room. I don't know. Just aisles and aisles of soda. Not even cola--just citrus soda, Sprite and Sunkist and Mountain Dew. Don't ask me. So I'm sort of biding my time and hissing at my sister and we're looking at soda and the phone rings and I hate hate HATE my mother, because I think by that time I was trying to actively steer the dream back into more productive avenues. And you know? You totally can't try to go back to sleep after that and pick up where you left off. It just doesn't work. I don't know why--I guess because you're operating on earthbound waking logic, and not the loopy dream logic that allows anything and everything to happen. I am always shortchanged in the dream department, dammit. Something must be done about this.

Off to class, and our last day discussing The Quaker City. It has given me some interesting ideas for Black Ribbon... did I mention before?
Tags: black ribbon, dreams, marie antoinette
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