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I dreamed I had to take a bus home wearing only a bath towel that was much too small to cover me. When I got there, Bambi was at my house, crying, because I had forgotten to pick up Rojo from school. I had also forgotten to pick up my own children from their classes. I had forgotten everything, apparently, except the way home.
I dreamed I was having an affair with my friend Amyís husband, Francois. I have never been particularly attracted to Francois, but in the dream it was all very matter-of-fact. We were united in the face of Amyís red-headed craziness. We were thinking of the children.
The sky is gray. My nose is cold. I want to write a book, but I donít know how. That was a lie. I do know how. No, Iím sorry, Iím wrong. I really donít know how.
Two plumbers came yesterday to help me wash my troubles away. The first plumber was thick. He started the washing machine. He wanted to see the main line back up when the washer emptied. I said, "We can pour all these buckets out, too." Iíd had to bail water into five-gallon buckets to keep the basement from flooding utterly. He said, no, he needed the water from the washing machine, because thatís what was causing the backup. It took him a long time to explain it. I said, "But the washing machine drains into this sink." He said, "No," and explained it all to me again in glorious looping detail. I thought about how I was paying $85 an hour for this folderol.
The washing machine kept filling up, slowly, slowly. I frowned. He made some sort of apology for not explaining it clearly enough. I said "No, Iím still stuck on that other thing. The water from the washing machine goes into the sink. If we pour the water from the buckets into the sink, it goes down the same drain."
He said, "We can pour the buckets if you want. I donít care."