Glass Dollhouses and Talking Rats
Nov. 17th, 2020 09:01 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mallorys_cameraWoke up in the middle of the night and willed myself to fall back to sleep—no easy task—and as I was falling asleep, thought it might be nice to have one of those whatchamacallit, lucid dreams—
Whereupon I found myself staring at Maria Wilhelm. She was sitting in this incredibly tiny car.
Hello, Maria! I said, wondering whether I was dreaming, and if so, whether this might not then be an ideal moment to act on all those Sapphic longings I’d harbored, somewhat resentfully, toward Maria 30 years ago or more.
But she wouldn’t look at me. Wouldn’t acknowledge my presence.
Won’t you even say hello, Maria? I asked.
Tiniest inclination of her head: No.
But you can see I’m here, right?
Tiniest inclination of her head: Yes.
And then somehow I was in this very strange hotel. It was billed as a luxe hotel but in fact, it was very shabby. On the unoccupied king-sized bed, someone had put out a bunch of items they were going to sell in some sort of yard sale.
Among these items was a kind of dollhouse whose items were made entirely of colored glass. A tiny desk! Tiny chairs! Tiny plates and saucers and kettles, all of roseate glass.
The price tag someone had affixed to the dollhouse was $63, which I could well afford, but I decided wotthehell, why should I buy the dollhouse when I could just as easily steal it?
And then I thought, Once you own these things, they’re never as cool as when you’re thinking about owning them; so I decided I would just take a photograph of the dollhouse instead—
But I couldn’t find my camera!
By this point, the maids had come into the room and were tearing it apart as they made beds, scrubbed bathrooms etc.
I can’t find my camera! I wailed, but when the maids dropped everything to start looking for the camera, I added, I’m sure it’s here somewhere—
The maids called the manager. The manager was a robot! Like one of those things they have patrolling the Stop and Shop except with a very human face, a female face.
You can’t be a robot, I said.
But I am, it assured me.
And then somehow we were outside the hotel, looking up at it from the bottom of a hill, and I had the thought, You’ve dreamed this hotel many, many times before, and the robot was telling me how hard it was for the hotel to make money, how they were thinking of lowering nightly fees and monthly rent—
Monthly rent? I said. Wait—people live here? Thinking, Hmmmmm…. Why not?
I didn’t say people live here, the robot interrupted stiffly.
But it just had, hadn’t it?
And then I woke up.
###
No real news to report from yesterday.
I spent most of the day watercoloring, dictating Tropico and lying to one of my clients—the one for whom I recently finished that 6,000-word white paper, which he loved so much that I now have two more 6,000-word white papers to complete.
I’m halfway through it! I lied.
Which, of course, is untrue! I haven’t even started.
Alicia tried to call me, and when I refused to pick up the phone, resorted to texting me furiously.
Tom, Katherine’s husband, had boxed up the PajamaGrams and sent them back to Alicia!
From London to Bend, Oregon!
That’s a lot of effort to put into a family feud, I thought. If it had been me, I would have donated the despised PajamaGrams to the Salvation Army. They are very nice pajamas.
I tromped, of course. Autumn is full upon us:
In the evening, I’d set up a Zoom conference for Annie, starring me and Alicia. Our two attractive offspring very kindly agreed to make guest appearances:
That’s Alicia, top left; Alicia’s daughter, Haley, middle right; and Ichabod on the bottom. I am next to Alicia. The shadowy figure to the left of Haley is Annie who appears to have lost even more of her mind since the Zoom with the East Coast cousins 10 days ago, and now only communicates by making a large stuffed rat toy talk.
The large stuffed rat toy says only two things: Look at my white socks and— well, I forget the other.
I must say the two young ‘uns treated Annie with exquisite kindness and affection.
My own thought is that she’s deteriorating fast and that she is probably only one year away from it being impossible to care for her at home.
Fortunately, she has the resources for a really high-quality Alzheimer’s home!
“So how much did the County of Santa Cruz settle her lawsuit for anyway?” I’d asked Alicia the day before yesterday.
“A million bucks,” Alicia told me.
Whereupon I found myself staring at Maria Wilhelm. She was sitting in this incredibly tiny car.
Hello, Maria! I said, wondering whether I was dreaming, and if so, whether this might not then be an ideal moment to act on all those Sapphic longings I’d harbored, somewhat resentfully, toward Maria 30 years ago or more.
But she wouldn’t look at me. Wouldn’t acknowledge my presence.
Won’t you even say hello, Maria? I asked.
Tiniest inclination of her head: No.
But you can see I’m here, right?
Tiniest inclination of her head: Yes.
And then somehow I was in this very strange hotel. It was billed as a luxe hotel but in fact, it was very shabby. On the unoccupied king-sized bed, someone had put out a bunch of items they were going to sell in some sort of yard sale.
Among these items was a kind of dollhouse whose items were made entirely of colored glass. A tiny desk! Tiny chairs! Tiny plates and saucers and kettles, all of roseate glass.
The price tag someone had affixed to the dollhouse was $63, which I could well afford, but I decided wotthehell, why should I buy the dollhouse when I could just as easily steal it?
And then I thought, Once you own these things, they’re never as cool as when you’re thinking about owning them; so I decided I would just take a photograph of the dollhouse instead—
But I couldn’t find my camera!
By this point, the maids had come into the room and were tearing it apart as they made beds, scrubbed bathrooms etc.
I can’t find my camera! I wailed, but when the maids dropped everything to start looking for the camera, I added, I’m sure it’s here somewhere—
The maids called the manager. The manager was a robot! Like one of those things they have patrolling the Stop and Shop except with a very human face, a female face.
You can’t be a robot, I said.
But I am, it assured me.
And then somehow we were outside the hotel, looking up at it from the bottom of a hill, and I had the thought, You’ve dreamed this hotel many, many times before, and the robot was telling me how hard it was for the hotel to make money, how they were thinking of lowering nightly fees and monthly rent—
Monthly rent? I said. Wait—people live here? Thinking, Hmmmmm…. Why not?
I didn’t say people live here, the robot interrupted stiffly.
But it just had, hadn’t it?
And then I woke up.
###
No real news to report from yesterday.
I spent most of the day watercoloring, dictating Tropico and lying to one of my clients—the one for whom I recently finished that 6,000-word white paper, which he loved so much that I now have two more 6,000-word white papers to complete.
I’m halfway through it! I lied.
Which, of course, is untrue! I haven’t even started.
Alicia tried to call me, and when I refused to pick up the phone, resorted to texting me furiously.
Tom, Katherine’s husband, had boxed up the PajamaGrams and sent them back to Alicia!
From London to Bend, Oregon!
That’s a lot of effort to put into a family feud, I thought. If it had been me, I would have donated the despised PajamaGrams to the Salvation Army. They are very nice pajamas.
I tromped, of course. Autumn is full upon us:
In the evening, I’d set up a Zoom conference for Annie, starring me and Alicia. Our two attractive offspring very kindly agreed to make guest appearances:
That’s Alicia, top left; Alicia’s daughter, Haley, middle right; and Ichabod on the bottom. I am next to Alicia. The shadowy figure to the left of Haley is Annie who appears to have lost even more of her mind since the Zoom with the East Coast cousins 10 days ago, and now only communicates by making a large stuffed rat toy talk.
The large stuffed rat toy says only two things: Look at my white socks and— well, I forget the other.
I must say the two young ‘uns treated Annie with exquisite kindness and affection.
My own thought is that she’s deteriorating fast and that she is probably only one year away from it being impossible to care for her at home.
Fortunately, she has the resources for a really high-quality Alzheimer’s home!
“So how much did the County of Santa Cruz settle her lawsuit for anyway?” I’d asked Alicia the day before yesterday.
“A million bucks,” Alicia told me.
