So, I was in some kind of a film, an older film, though I can't remember which one anymore. The dream is kind of vague, and yet very specific all at the same time. I was in this movie, and I was a different character, a woman with dark brown, possibly black hair, long, with that forties wave in it. I don't remember exactly what we were doing, but it lasted a long time.

Then there was this creature. It was large, muscular, darker green, kindof dull green (like a toad), and it had wings, but it looked like a man. In fact, it looked similar to the guy that played the Hulk, also now in Troy, Eric Bana.

So anyway, this thing picks me up and carries me, but as he's carrying me, he's holding me quite close to his body, and I feel something warm and hard. Three guesses what that is, and the first two don't count. He ends up raping me, but as it happens, he turns into a fairly normal man, and almost breaks through his nasty skin like a custard breaking off a hard sugar-y crust... and it kindof oozes off, though it's not liquid, it's very hard and crusty.

So, we start this love affair, and he's pretty well perfectly normal when he's around me, and once I go to sleep, he turns back into that creature for some reason.

That's about all I remember... somehow we didn't make it; whether it was a King Kong type of an ending or a Gone With the Wind type of ending, I'm not sure. But that's my embarrassing, strange, kinda creepy dream of a couple of nights previous.

Stuff needs to get put away... the living room is full of my books and notebooks and computer parts, and other people's stuff. It's a big project but I get all my junk contained in a more orderly fashion in my own room.

Next comes the kitchen - dirty dishes and groceries that somehow never made it to cabinets and fridge - and some of this stuff should really be refrigerated - orange juice, cooked broccoli, jam. The sink is so full of dishes that it's hard to wash around them, and the crumbs and lip-marks and sauce and grease are all dried on, all need to be soaked and scoured. As I start shuffling food around, Mom quizzes me about what kind of desserts I would like, and I come up with lemon sherbet or chocolate chip ice cream or raspberry pastry.

One of the last things on the table is bacon: floppy greasy disgusting bacon layered willy-nilly on 3 or 4 white enameled wire shelf racks, about double-cookie-sheet size. As I seal it in the yellow Tupperware container we store Christmas cookies in each year, I quiz Mom: How old is this, why wasn't it put away? Mom seems quite mystified. Dad has been quiet, but with a little badgering he takes responsibility for the bacon having been abandoned there. "Your mother probably didn't make the connection," he says.

"What connection? You left the bacon there and...?"
"And I beat the living crap out of her."

Log in or register to write something here or to contact authors.