I'm cursed. I have wildly bizarre dreams and nine times out of ten, I remember them the next morning. Last night I had a dream so odd, so vivid, that I can't help but share.
Picture it. I'm in my old synagogue and Miami and all is well except it's quadrupled in size, and it's somehow transported to Dallas. (If you've read my 100 Things you know that almost all of my dreams take place in either my old house there or other buildings that originated in Miami.) I toss my Chanel bag in the corner. Terrible idea! I'm by myself and I'm racing down the hall with a Publix shopping cart. What is this, Synagogue Sweep? Am I hoping to grab some good garb at the gift shop? What in God's name am I doing? Crap, don't say God's name in shopping cart vain. Okay. I come to my senses and ditch the cart. I continue to run. I'm headed towards... the bathroom. Lots of vino last night. Okay. I run past people I know without stopping to say hello and finally make it to facility. I realize why I've been running. A girl was following me. A girl I know and don't like. And she certainly doesn't like me. You know those people who think that good people are bad people simply because they are HAPPY? And call other people liars because they can't live with the truth? That's her. Oh, this is heinous. Can't I pee in peace?
She makes small talk and continually greets me. I do my best to politely ignore her. (Turns out, polite ignoration does not exist.) I exit the bathroom and she follows me again. It suddenly dawns on me that I have abandoned my Chanel bag in a large building with crazies like her on the loose. I run past lots of gentile girls I used to know. What the hell is going on? Ahh, don't say hell in temple. She runs after me.
"What are you doing here?" I yell. "You're not even Jewish!"
She continues to chase me. We approach a crossroads. I can continue down the hall or I can enter a door with the word "Honesty" written above it in both English and Hebrew.
"Hey TAG," she cries out. "Is this the door where people go to find out the truth?"
I sigh. "Yes."
"WELL THEN YOU SHOULD GO IN THERE, YOU LIAR!"
I channel Robert Frost and take the road less traveled: the hallway. "GET SOME NEW MATERIAL!" I yell back to her before breaking into a full-on sprint.
My Chanel bag is right where I left it. Hallelujah! I run out the door and into the parking lot, where I am safe. I dig around in my bag for an exit theory and find a car key. Apparently I drive a snappy little Mercedes... that is nowhere to be found. I frantically look around the parking lot. Why did I go to synagogue alone again?
3:50 AM. I wake up in a sweat. Now, I don't usually try to dechipher dreams, but Free Lilly to anyone who wants to take a whack at that.
Personally, I think it's the sum of having too much wine on a Wednesday.