Soldier Justin phoned because he had some kind of essay on leadership due and was freaking out. He has typed it up on a different program than whoever wants it, is using. One scrambled document and an hour of “word pad – txt – attachments for beginners” later, I think all is well.
“Um, okay,” I rasped, into the cordless my dad had walked in and propped against my ear.
“Highlight the title. Then there’s a button that centers it-”
“Woah woah woah you’re way ahead of me.”
“Just look for the little text alignment buttons-”
“FUCKING A, I SAID WOAH! You’re talking to a blonde here…oh, shit! Oh, no!”
“What. You know, Mandi knows all this stuff at 8 am, too.”
“I just exited out of it! Fuck this piece of shit. I think the library’s open, now. You’re coming with me – hang on, I have to put you in my pocket.”
*muffled sounds of marching and opening doors*…
Mom took my computer to a tech at her school after I ran some kind of Norton systems check that had told me, “We found some clusters. They probably aren’t important. Let’s delete em, eh? Just click.” I had, and then the IE program refused to open, along with all instant messengers. Connected to the internet just fine, but something was wrong from the connection to the programs. So Mom just rips its cords off and hauls it away. :(
Why did it have to go and call them clusters? Why wasn’t it more honest. “INFORMATION DATA, here! THINK ABOUT IT.”
Dad: Can you make a copy of this?
Autumn May: I can’t. Mom took my computer to some kid at work who partied too hard over the weekend to look at it.
Mom: He’s not a kid, he’s 27! And cute! I’d introduce you, but he drinks too much.
Autumn May: Please. This derilect needs to give me back my machine.
Mom: I’ll tell Tracy you said that.
Autumn May: Tell him I said I’m pretty sure that sounds like a chick’s name. (and so on, because it’s easier being difficult than admitting I fucked up my computer)
End trans, with requested dream for Michael to translate. I have 3 miles to jog on a formula of the last legal low-cal stacker formula: Green tea extract, caffeine, and aspirin.
Cordially yours yours, yours, and yours,
Autumn “Pulls All Her Own Stunts” May
I had a dream that I was driving a car full of people, and we were trying to get home. Unaware of where in the state we were, I pulled over and asked someone for directions. They held their hand out to resemble Michigan, and pointed to the thumb – which I live nowhere near. We had been going in the wrong direction for a long time, and this left everyone really depressed. With no way to turn around in sight, I crossed one of the highway drives reserved for police vehicles.
“Holy shit!” I heard Mandi’s voice say, as though she’d grabbed onto the door to steady herself from my sudden decision. “Thank God a cop didn’t see you!”
Feeling disappointed because I figured I’d be driving for a long while yet, there was an enormous sense of relief when a sign read, “Detroit” with an arrow pointing right. I read it to indicate familiar territory at the next exit, and everyone else in car (who I never got to see) became excited. However, as the next exit drew near I discovered that it was a lane that went off to form a grassy trail and in no way resembled the road. Confused but determined to go home, I pulled the car over and walked the bicycle trail-looking path that wound up and around a hill, out of sight from everything. My company was no longer in the dream.
The path was suddenly enclosed in a tunnel, and lead to a futuristic silo kind of building (with rings around it like planets have) that had three floors I would explore several times throughout the dream. The bottom layer was a lobby filled with busy bodies, and there were overhead messages that sounded like something you’d hear at an airport. The perimeter was lined with doors, and everyone was entering and exiting. The black stairs led to the second floor, which had dance music playing and club lights flashing while a thick crowd danced. It felt like while still being an important place of transportation, it was popular here for people to take a break from their travels…to dance, I guess. Third floor was the same – only different colored lights and a different kind of music.
No matter how many times I tried to find the door that would get me out of there, I kept revisiting the same three floors again and again. It was getting frustrating, and I eventually started to forget where I was – what was going on. It was just doors and strangers having fun on dark, strobe-lit dance floors.
“You’ve walked past the exit, maybe, 4 times already.” Someone standing in one of the dark hallways had seen me pass back and forth and no doubt noticed my lost expression. He was dressed in black like so many other people, but was in easier focus with bright blonde hair. “You can’t see it; it’s just there.”
I looked down and stuck my foot out to touch the wall. My leg disappeared to the outside. I hadn’t noticed anyone else doing this. Elated and feeling a little stupid for taking so long, I walked through the side of the building and crossed a black bridge that was connected to the building and a wooden scape, like on park playgrounds. There were several people making their way down.
Once on the ground, someone was holding up the opening of a long, cotton tube of whites that looked like pillow cases or laundry bags, all sewn together. Although at an open plain, no one was going to the left of right of it – and at the very end of the laundry tunnel was a parking lot. There was a line of people waiting to climb through, I figured, in order to get to their cars and continue on their way. I was just sort of suddenly in line, and we were all on our hands and knees (why people weren’t standing until they had to lean down and crawl in, I don’t know).
Sitting up on my knees and turning around, I saw that the blonde man was behind me. He smiled. I leaned forward, nudged the side of my face across his cheek, and woke up.