Saturday, February 2, 2008


I finished The Road early this week. The day before I finished it I read it at the bus stop, and then on the bus, and then walked the few blocks to my apartment while reading (and did not trip). The King is reading now so I am holding my comments to myself. He is reading before he goes to sleep at night, and that, I think, is a bad idea.
I used to scoff at my roommates who had bad dreams as the result of the books they read before bed, and then I read The Road and dreamt I was in Portland, arguing with my ex boyfriend/BFFOMGZ on a train platform. "The world has ended," I said, "You don't need to buy a train ticket!" We were both wearing backpacks, the kind bike-riding serious hikers have, that tower over your head and hangs far past your butt. In the Real World I'd topple over but in Dream World I was kicking major ass with my backpack, which had camping knives and pots, and maps, and some random tools. Our families were okay but we were joined by several annoying friends who totally brought us down in our quest to escape and save the city. Which had sky scrapers. Portland doesn't have sky scrapers!
This dream would have been awesome, if it hadn't followed reading The Road, and wasn't two months after the most AWESOME apocalyptic dream of all time.

Following no books, movies, or discussions (which occur often between Biscuit and myself), I dreamt that The King and I set out in his car to go on some vague errands. We had to return in the late afternoon because, "my mother was making a casserole." This is your tip that things have gone awry as Winifred, while a master in the kitchen, is not Mrs. Cleaver and does not make casseroles in a dress. In fact, she doesn't wear dresses at all, but in Dream World she was wearing a dress, with heels, and making a casserole.
Around 3 p.m. we had to pull over because the road was full of zombies. We knew we had to get home, ("Captain, we need to get to Mom! She made a casserole! What if she's in danger?!") and we took miscellaneous items from the path to get home. I think at one point we both weld an axe. As a spoiled suburbanite turned almost-city dweller, I've never held or swung an axe. I mean, please. There was also some trashcan lids, tree branches, and boots. We swung boots and defeated zombies. I am serious. Eventually the Army came over the hill, and some people ran away because they thought, you know, the Army would take care of it.
The King and I groaned as Major Jerkface was of little help at all. Eventually we had fought the several miles home, clearing a path, making it easier for the Army, and made it home.
Where Winifred had finished her casserole and taken her oven rack and hit a zombie upside the head. She was tapping her foot as she scolded its body for getting in her business, who did he think he was?
The King and I were embarrassed then that we rushed home.
And then we got in her car and drove to the movies. Afterall, we'd done all the hard work, it was time for a reward.

No comments: