Three dreams

March 6, 2006

I am charged with taking a story about a young, heroin-addicted father who sexually abuses his 6-year-old daughter, and turning it into a full-length ballet.

I turn out to be not-so-good at figure skating, but fast on the ice. Naturally, I become a hockey player. (This dream brought on by, I’m sure, the atrocious ads for Cutting Edge 2.)

I’m sleeping in a snowy back yard, and suddenly sense that I’m being watched. Mountain lions follow me up a steep bank and through the sliding glass door. They are rambunctious like big floppy dogs, but also too transfixed by the sight of our necks. The police tranquilize them with huge syringes. One animal doesn’t survive the chemicals. I slump to the floor with guilt.

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