HomeFebruary 17, 1997
I don't usually write about my dreams, but last night's was just too weird.
I'm in my living room trying to show Joan-east's autistic and dyslexic son Mark how to assemble Lego blocks and explaining to Joan-east why his particular form of dyslexia prevents him from playing with Lego. Joan-west is in my kitchen cooking spaghetti for dinner. She is yelling at me for not having meat sauce. I keep telling her I don't eat meat and neither does she, but she keeps yelling about how dare I not have meat sauce on hand. The phone rings. I set it on the coffee table before I answer [ed. note: I don't have a coffee table]. It's Kate. She wants to have dinner at 4:30 sharp. I look at my watch. It's 4:10 and we have no meat sauce.
Hmmm, in real life Joan-east's son is perfectly normal and a grown man, Joan-west is a vegetarian, and I don't have a coffee table or Lego blocks. Kate has Lego blocks but is rarely so punctual about time...
I told this to Joan-west when I called her this morning. She laughed. When we said our goodbyes she added "Now don't forget that meat sauce."
Meanwhile, I'm sick again. I have a sore throat - the kind that feels like daggers lodged in my throat. I have a fever and body aches. My skin feels raw. I'm barely over the chills/vomit disease and I get the fever/sore throat disease. Yuck.
There's nothing in the 1996 notebooks for the 17th of February. Next entry is for 2/20.
The 1995 entry is sort of a summary of the writing retreat at Ghost Ranch. So I think I'll save it for later.