I was Hillary and was unpacking to stay at an apartment-type hotel suite in an Eastern European country. I was wearing a pink Chanel suit with a skirt. I was screaming mad at my campaign staff, including Bill, because they couldn't find my pink patent leather shoes.
I think the dream happened because I was frustrated with my toddler while my husband is in the midst of his own campaign in local politics.
18 May 2008
I was Hillary and was unpacking to stay at an apartment-type hotel suite in an Eastern European country. I was wearing a pink Chanel suit with a skirt. I was screaming mad at my campaign staff, including Bill, because they couldn't find my pink patent leather shoes.
13 May 2008
In my dream I see Hillary and I tell her I have been praying for her. She nods and smiles. I say, I pray for the best possible outcome. She snaps at me, Pray for me to win! I think it's kind of funny and I know she is tired and beaten down so I don't take offense.
I was at a Hillary rally with an all-women audience. Hillary was on stage and we were chanting, We support you Hillary! We support you! over and over. Then we all grabbed our legs in agony. I felt a severe pain running from my right hip to my foot. Then it hit me that supporting Hillary was causing the pain, and I started to yell, I don't support you! I don't support you! hoping that pain would go away.
I woke up a little disoriented, my leg hurting for real.
08 May 2008
In the dream, I am sitting in one of the front pews of a church. The entire congregation is expectant, waiting for something to happen. Then Hillary emerges in front of the pulpit. She is wearing a beautiful purple robe and is looking very queenly and goddess-like. An entourage of smiling people surround her and place a glittering, radiant crown on her head.
03 May 2008
I was in a poker game -- seven card stud -- with Hillary Clinton. She was the bettor, each round betting the maximum of $5, though the chips were in the form of hard balls of congealed metal. Working on a flush draw, I called each time she bet. On the final round, with an open pair on her board, she bet again, and though I figured she might have a full house, I called, thinking I had a flush (ace high). She claimed to have a flush (six high), but then showed several different colored trinkets, which she insisted was in fact a flush. I turned over my cards, which contained four spades -- which somehow were supposed to be blue -- with a fifth made up of bluish pages from the Boston Globe advertising section. Clinton refused to accept the hand as a (higher) flush, and took the pot.
28 April 2008
I'm attending a fundraising dinner at work. Hillary arrives at the very end and wows us all. She is personable and friendly, but I wonder, Why is Hillary Clinton here?
Then everything ends and we begin cleaning up. Hillary jumps in and takes out the trash, then starts putting away the folding chairs. I am very impressed that she is doing this "dirty work."
At last she takes me aside and says very earnestly, I'm so sorry you had to deal with all that harassment stuff at your work. (I recently left a job due to a hostile work environment.)
She spoke in such a genuine and honest way, holding my shoulders and looking into my eyes. I was deeply touched by this, both in the dream and as I remember the feeling now.
I was interviewing Hillary for a feature article, and I was really excited about the story and all the details I was getting. I was structuring the story in my head as I talked to her. I also interviewed some other people, and one of them told me that a little-known fact about Hillary is that she likes to make dirty jokes, and in particular she likes puns on the word hymen. I thought, That's the first paragraph in my story! Then, at the end of my interview with Hillary, I asked her where she would be during the upcoming weekend. She said, This weekend, hymen New York!
25 April 2008
I was on a plane, and for some reason, was carrying a tiny action figure of Hillary. Then the plane started barreling downwards. We were in free fall. I held on tight to the seat ahead of me until we hit the ground.
The next thing I knew, I was on the ground at the site of a terrible plane crash. People were strewn everywhere. The action figure of Hillary was on the ground next to me in pieces. I picked up all the pieces.
Then I was in a shabby office where apparently I was working for Hillary, only she looked more like it was 1993 than 2008. She was working in her office when I came to show her I had put the action figure of her back together. She seemed pleased. Referring to that and the Pennsylvania primary, I told her, That's the second time we've brought you back from the dead this week!
I went to give her a hug, but her mood immediately changed. I don't do hugs, she said coldly. I was suddenly very angry and embarrassed. Her tone was incredibly rude. I thought, Well, if she's going to be like that, I'll just vote for Obama!
It was a strange thing. I remember that she was not only younger in my dream, but incredibly thin.
24 April 2008
I was chasing Hillary Clinton down a sidewalk. She was dressed in a pantsuit and was frequently looking over her shoulder at me. It was not that she was afraid of me. Rather, the conversation was over and Hillary was signaling that she didn't want to talk with me anymore, meaning I should really hurry up and try to catch her -- which is what I did.
Then Hillary and I were talking face to face. I had taken a hold of her shoulders in a kind of pleading way, but I might also have been pressing her up against a brick wall that suddenly appeared. It's unclear.
I gave Hillary a rehash of the dialog that's been in my head for the last two weeks or so, which is that Barack Obama is the most exciting political candidate the Democratic Party has seen in 40 years, and that instead of getting behind him, Hillary (and the party) were tearing him down and dragging him through the mud, destroying his chances of winning. At one point I looked right into her eyes and said, He grew up poor. I mean truly poor, at which point Hillary broke eye contact and looked off in a peevish kind of way that said to me that she knew I was right, but that she couldn't be bothered.
I woke up feeling stricken, which is how I felt when I went to bed. But the dream was still cathartic in a way that I can't explain. I feel more at peace today.
23 April 2008
I'm looking at photos of Bill and Hillary from way back when. They're both only wearing underwear and they're in a dorm room with another couple only in underwear. Bill is sitting up and Hillary is lying next to him. She's staring blankly. She's really stoned.
In my dream, as in life, I support Obama, but looking at those pictures makes me like Hillary more than I had. I feel like once upon a time, she had fun. Then I am talking to my mom and she says it's too bad that women get uglier with age and men get more attractive.
21 April 2008
I was telling the actress Kathy Bates, who was my therapist, about my mid-life angst. She responded with a feminist lecture that all of women's unhappiness is really about thwarted ambition that turns into bitterness and anger. While Kathy Bates was talking, there was a panning over a large display of Hillary magazine covers, and in each of them Hillary looked monstrously enraged.
18 April 2008
In my dream, Hillary wanted to date me. Her intent was more physical than just going out. I heard she was looking for me. Then she appeared outside in a shopping plaza and was acting coy. She told me she wanted to be with me, and I respectfully declined. She insisted that I consider her advances and there was an undertone of "or else". I still declined and she still insisted.
She took off her dress and asked me to check her out. She was wearing a t-shirt and average, women's underwear. It was not very flattering. I tried to walk away, noticing her car and that some of her secret service people were behind her, about 50 feet away.
She put her arms around my neck and pressed against me in a very awkward way. At last, I was able to leave the area.
Next, I found myself running from her secret service men who were trying to kill me. I was able to run into familiar territory and lost them. Then I got to my car and began driving, but they were hot on my trail. I was able to somehow leave the car and I watched the Secret Service men drive their car over the edge of a cliff.
Then I was in a different home from my own and the Secret Service guys still were looking for me. They were saying that they needed to find me or Hillary was going to be mad as hell. I was able to jump out a window and fly downward, rather comfortably, through some trees.
I was able to get away from Hillary and her henchmen only to realize that she was no different than any other "crazy" woman I've met. Weird.
16 April 2008
I was at a church retreat or convention. I ended up sitting next to Hillary in the dining hall. We struck up a pleasant conversation and she admitted that she didn't know how to skate-board. I offered to teach her.
She got up on a skateboard and rolled along the sidewalk with me by her side, offering my arm and shoulder to steady her. She seemed game for anything, interested in learning new things, and was open to talking with all kinds of people. She wasn't nervous about being on the skateboard, yet didn't try to hide her lack of skill. I found her easy to talk to, genuine, and personable.
15 April 2008
I’m a writer for The Nation magazine, and I’m on deadline for an article that I’ve basically forgotten to do. Just as I'm packing the car with my boyfriend -- we're about to go on a trip -- I remember the article, stop packing the car, and go dash off a draft. Then I take it to the office. I know it’s not very good but I’m hoping to get away with it.
Hillary Clinton and Keith Olbermann are the editors and they read it on the spot. Clinton asks me if I understand the meaning of the word homogeneous, which is a word I use in my article. I can’t think of its meaning, which makes me angry, since I understand it in context but just can’t think of how to define it.
They continue to be quite rude to me. Olbermann gives me a really arrogant and over-the-top dressing down in front of Clinton and a bunch of other staff who come in to watch him yell. I end up in a huge childish fight with them, screaming and giving them the finger before I run out.
I return to my boyfriend, crying. He tries to comfort me and tells me he’s often done a shoddy job on articles for The Nation, and I should relax. I know he works harder than I do on his articles, and this makes me more angry, and I get in a huge fight with him, too.
We cancel our trip and I end up by myself, taking the dog for a walk and crying.
12 April 2008
Hillary and I were walking through my city, Toronto. A few paces behind us my boyfriend was walking with the woman Hillary had just announced as a running mate -- a cheerful, friendly young woman who looked like Hillary but prettier, with a blonde bob and the same orange makeup Hillary was wearing. It wasn’t clear who this women was. I had told Hillary that it was a brilliant political choice, though I wasn’t sure it was true.
The four of us were walking through back-alleys, past clothing shops, toward a movie theatre. Hillary was impressive and serious and wasn’t making conversation, and everything I could think of to say sounded stupid to me (Do you come to Toronto often? – obviously she didn’t, but she was here now) so I didn’t say a word. When we passed a bunch of furniture and garbage that someone had thrown out, I looked at it desperately, thinking it might help provide me with a topic of conversation, but as we walked past it, I didn’t remark on it and neither did she.
At last we came to a large Canadian Tire store where her political rival – Bill Clinton (that is who she was running against) was going to announce his running mate. The store was closed but was being prepared to be open so that the announcement could take place. I felt bad for Hillary, for Bill's announcement would take place in that huge store, while hers had taken place that morning in a tiny shop, also closed, when no one but me was around.
10 April 2008
I am working as Hillary's assistant. My primary duties include walking her really big dogs and carrying shopping bags full of auto parts. I am unsteady on my feet because of several unwieldy hubcaps I am carrying, when a passing rodent causes the dogs to go crazy and drag me through a puddle of raw sewage in Central Park.
07 April 2008
I was working for Obama's campaign but for some reason I had to interview Hillary. I kept trying to come up with questions to ask her, but couldn't think of one.
At last she met me in the grand entrance hall of what looked like a 19th-century building, sort of Spanish-influenced with colorful columns and a tile floor.
She came down a flight of stairs completely alone -- no security, no press. Again I drew a complete blank on what to say to her.
She was smiling and we walked out together. Then I woke up. I remember finding her hot but I would still never vote for her in a million years.
I was with a group of people, mostly men, watching a political show on TV at someone's house. I made a comment about some campaign facts. One man said shut up, with a smile. Others had been commenting, too. I went into the kitchen and cleaned up, loading the dishwasher. There were some wooden-handled kitchen tools and I thought they may need oiling after being in the dishwasher.
Hillary appeared in the kitchen in a rose pink chenille robe. She was very thin. She looked upset that the wooden-handled tools were going in the dishwasher. I began looking for the oil I had bought earlier to oil the handles.
We had some perfunctory exchanges. She would not make eye contact. She was irritable but feigning civility. I tried to say something sympathetic about growing up in a house with brothers, but she brushed it off.
06 April 2008
I was in an old, convoluted building with plaster walls and heavy wooden trim, like an old schoolhouse. Hillary had plotted against me and my friend and was trying to destroy us, and had set her thugs upon us. They chased us through the building and upstairs where we ran into Hillary. I tried to convince her to let us go, that she and I were on the same side, saying that while I have "the brains" she has "the charisma."
04 April 2008
I was at an outdoor event. Bill Clinton was sitting at a metal folding table that had a plastic, patterned tablecloth, and he was joking around with some reporters. Then he started getting nervous about something, as evident from the pit stains on his shirt. As his nervousness increased, he started turning into a beige-colored larva about two feet long or so. This made me dejected.
Hillary came along out of nowhere and picked up the larva-with-Bill-Clinton's-face, tucked him under her arm and sat down on a metal folding chair. She had a wry expression and kept fidgeting because the larva on her lap (which now had a pair of little legs with hooves) was somewhat overweight and was also apparently still sweating.
Hillary and Bill were renewing their wedding vows in a small ceremony. They were so happy to renewing their vows! I was supposed to sing at it but I had a sore throat and couldn't.
I felt so bad. Fearing I would ruin their day and disappoint them, I asked the organizer if they could play a recording of the song and I would lip synch.
02 April 2008
I was a 100-year-old man and I rode a white horse to a cone-shaped temple where Hillary was giving a short speech.
The room was very small and as it was only filled with a handful of kindergarten students, I blatantly stuck out. I sensed this put Hillary on edge, as she seems quite perceptive, but she continued by reading from a set script, which went over very well, and she grew more comfortable. Then the kids asked her a lot of cute questions.
At the end of her speech, Hillary asked for campaign donations. I recalled that I'd already given to a telephone canvasser and left quickly to allow the youngsters full opportunity to meet this vibrant presidential hopeful.
I looked back at Hillary as I was leaving the hall and as our eyes locked in a warm gaze, she mouthed the words, Thank you and the horse you rode in on.
Hillary came up to me personally to ask if I would campaign for her. She was gorgeous -- much prettier than on TV!! She had a pamphlet with some sort of survey attached to it, and I was filling it out in green pen, but I kept messing up and having to cross out my answers.
01 April 2008
It was a big day for Chelsea, a right of passage into womanhood or a graduation. A large crowd was gathered in the auditorium and Bill was at the podium giving a brilliant speech about the precious moment in his daughter’s life. I stood near the stage in the pit where Hillary was awaiting her turn to speak.
I was thinking what a lovely family moment it was, very genuine, though not quite fully removed from the political arena. I thought that it could have just been a very wise move for a politician to have a kid, a way of giving yourself a platform to speak on that is not political yet at the same time very effectively promotes you, whereas if you didn't have a kid, you couldn't relate so well to the majority of voters with families, who have gone through such experiences themselves.
It was now Hillary’s turn. Bill gave her a wonderful introduction and as her aides prepped her to go on stage, I noticed that she was wearing a costume pig-snout. Apparently it was a tongue-in-cheek joke about the bad press she had been receiving.
I advised her that it wasn’t a good idea to wear it on the stage, thinking that she should just play it straight and stay focused on what was happening with Chelsea. But she and her aides insisted it was important that she wear it.
She stepped onto stage and I could sense the audience was not amused. A group of middle-aged women shook their heads in disapproval. The joke had flopped. I was sure it would cost her in the polls.
I am in an airplane, standing in the back in the stewardess area, when the plane starts to experience mechanical difficulties and then begins a controlled but very fast descent. We are not able to make it to the airport so the pilot decided to land the plane on a fairly busy highway. I can see all this happening. The plane lands on the highway and takes out a couple of cars, but everyone on the plane is safe. Later, I see a newspaper with a headline that reads, Clinton Pilots Plane to Safety and a bunch of pictures of Hillary smiling and being congratulated on saving the lives of the passengers.
There is a smaller story about the casualties on the ground.
Hillary was running for president unopposed. Two of my friends and I realized that something needed to be done to ensure a fair election. Also, she had become a mad woman and was making all sorts of outrageous suggestions for new policies. Though we are democrats, we decided that we needed to find a strong Republican candidate who could stop her. We persuaded John Goodman to run. In the dream, he was the character he played in the television series The West Wing -- Republican Speaker of the House. Although I never found out who won, he was successful in moderating her policies.
30 March 2008
Hillary was visiting my family -- which was a random assortment of some family and friends. We were spending a lot of time hanging around aimlessly chatting, which seemed odd to me. I'd always expected her to be one of the most busy, focused, and intense people I'd ever meet, but really she was just like any random lady.
I felt a little uncomfortable because along with her silk blouse (a bit rumpled) and jacket, she was wearing only underwear -- and not particularly impressive underwear: kind of grey and a little baggy, stretched out, with tatty lace bits around the edges. She took no notice of my noticing and we continued to chat. Her vulnerability was somehow touching but I made a decision to not be touched by it.
I am anxiously waiting to hear the results of the evening's primaries, when I hear hear Brian Williams say, And this is what Hillary does in her spare time.
There is a clip of a Texas landscape, likely George Bush's ranch, and into the scene rides Hillary Clinton on a near perfect, super horse. She looks stiff as usual and slightly excited, her hair long, wearing a pair of jeans. She holds the reigns tightly, trying desperately to control the horse. The clip ends and there is another clip of her homeland: trees, a path, a man-made lake. Hillary appears, coming down the path on a skateboard. Her hair is still long, she's crouched low on the board. She's coming closer, closer... all of a sudden there's a shot of her doing some kind of skateboard jump right in to the lake, then a huge splash. I wake up at that point.
29 March 2008
In my dream, I hopped a plane to Tokyo. All the stores were run by Canadians. Hillary Clinton was there. She came up to me and asked me if I wanted to take a picture with her. I didn’t want to. I had on a silly headwrap that I didn’t think would photograph well, but I said yes anyway. When the photographer tried to snap the picture, the camera broke.
I was at a rally with my sister and her eight-month-old baby when my sister decided that she needed to feed my niece. As she was getting ready, Hillary saw and asked my sister if she could feed the baby. She grabbed my niece, then sat cross-legged on the ground. She started talking about the trials of being a mom and that her heroes are mothers everywhere. It was lovely.
We are lined up with our luggage along the side of a building in Eastern Europe, waiting to be deported. It is a very nightmarish scene, like from Schindler's List. Everything is in black and white. Then Hillary comes by to examine us for deporting. She is in colour.
When she appears before me, she says, very friendly and motherly, What are you doing here? I didn't mean you! Come help me catalog my roses.
She pulls me away, putting a large, Ingrid Bergman-esque sunhat on me. We walk together through a rather pitiful rose garden and I write down, in a reporter's notebook, everything she says about the roses. I feel guilty, like I am obeying her for my own safety while other people are being deported and killed.
Hillary is set to speak to a huge crowd in a large open field. I'm high on the top of a ladder at the back of the crowd, waiting for her to appear. Then I realize she is behind me. The ladder falls backwards. I land on my feet, but my landing splashes mud on Hillary's suit jacket. (It's light pink and shapeless with shimmery gold thread and two big white buttons.)
Hillary is good-natured about the whole thing, and I'm pleased I didn't hurt myself when I fell off the ladder. I produce a damp towel to help her get the mud off. It comes off, but leaves a damp spot on the jacket. I fret over whether it would have been better to leave the mud, which was less noticeable.
27 March 2008
Hillary and I knew each other and we were hanging out, talking, walking along. At one point, a bunch of reporters and television cameras showed up. I realized that she had to give a little interview or at least address them, so I tried to appear inconspicuous and stay in the background.
The spot aired on the political talk shows and the talking heads were discussing who Hillary should pick as a vice president. Someone asked, What about that girl who was standing in the background [me]? Maybe Hillary should consider her for VP. I was watching this and thinking, Yikes, no thanks.
Then Hillary and I continued on to our destination which was my 4th grade classroom (an amalgamation of the 4th grade class I teach and the class I was in in 4th grade). She was going to give a little speech and meet the kids. Bill Clinton was already there and all the parents and kids were circling around him and talking with him, laughing at his jokes. It seemed like people weren't interested in Hillary. I was thinking, Nooo, you're supposed to be paying attention to her!
I'm at some house and am telling Hillary that I don't know who I'm voting for yet, and that she needs to do some seriousl talking to convince me why I should choose her over Barack.
She starts crying to me about how much of a change she is going to make in the country, and how important it is that I know she is going to change the politics and the way things work and that she needs to know that she has my vote.
After she is done talking, I say to her, How are you going to remember my face when you’re in the White House? I want you to think of my face when you feel like you’re going through tough times.
She promises she will.
26 March 2008
I'm working at a psychiatric hospital for children and teens, but the hospital decides it will start treating adults in the youth unit to save money. Hillary Clinton is one of the patients. We are in a group therapy session and she talks at length about her anxiety and depression. She cries as she speaks openly and honestly about her struggles with her mental illness. Then this beautiful little girl with curly long red hair comes bouncing into the room and walks through the middle of the circle.
I'm walking down the Keizersgracht in Amsterdam, and I have an overwhelming desire to impersonate W.C. Fields, which I begin doing as I continue to stroll along the edge of the canal.
I notice a slight brouhaha outside a shop, and I see Hillary inside, soliciting votes by making sandwiches for the patrons. I go in. She asks me what I want and I answer in my W.C. Fields voice, flipping my fingers against the brim of my top hat politely. Hillary makes me a sandwich with a somewhat forced smile. I continue to impersonate W.C. Fields until she says something like, Okay, great. Stop, that's fine.
I leave the shop and it occurs to me that she must be quite desperate for support because this is Amsterdam.
I'm in a college classroom and we're having a discussion about current economic troubles. Hillary is teaching the class, and she is using the Socratic method, asking students questions and trying to elicit the correct response. No one is getting her point, so I raise my hand and she called on me. I say, The problem is liquidity! She agrees, Exactly. I feel so proud.
25 March 2008
I am in an industrial city in Eastern Europe. There is a war in the streets. To escape the violence I am jumping from rooftop to rooftop with fifteen other people. Some firefighters spot us and usher us into a warehouse, then shut the door.
We start finger-painting at little art stations, and I notice that Hillary is part of our group. I am awe-stuck by her presence but no one else seems to notice or care. There is a radiant quality to her and I feel a sense of peace. She announces to the group that she is holding a rally on Saturday and asks who she can count on to come. I raise my hand and shout, Go Hillary!
My enthusiasm is met with groans from the others in the group. I remember that a war is raging outside and suddenly feel ashamed.
24 March 2008
Hillary Clinton is my therapist. We are sitting on a bench overlooking the Mississippi River and I am telling her my real-life troubles. She is so warm and caring, sparkling in the sunlight. I start crying about my problems and she gives me a hug.
I wake feeling safe and loved, and this feeling stays with me for several weeks.
I am walking on a red dirt road that runs alongside a stream. It is the magic hour and the light is perfect. Up ahead of me, I see four tiny, blond, blue-eyed children. They are wearing white outfits and are radiant. Somehow I know that they're siblings. They are otherworldly, so healthy. While the scene is so beautiful that I don't want to break the spell, I feel there's something not quite right.
I look back for their mother and it's Hillary. She's walking towards me, smiling very contentedly and wearing a pink gingham shirt. She stops to talk to me and I fumble for words. I say, I've never met your children before - they're beautiful. She goes on to say something, but I'm not really listening. I can tell she's giving the answer her handlers have told her to give when she's asked about this. I think to myself that she must have had these kids one after the other, nine months apart.
We walk down the road, together now, the kids up ahead of us. I decide to stop and rest on a tree stump by the river. Bill Clinton comes over to talk to me. He sits on a tree stump next to mine and starts asking me questions about myself, nodding and nodding like he's very interested.
He puts his hand on my knee, then checks my reaction. I'm a little creeped out, but don't show it. I'm in the middle of saying something when he reaches up and grabs my breast. I look at him with disgust, and when I do, I notice Hillary staring at us. Though she has seen everything, she is still smiling beatifically. I think to myself, These are some very weird people. I want to stay as far from them as possible.
In my dream, Hillary and I are intimately involved. Given the demands of her campaign, I can't believe she is able to be with me. It is amazing. She communicates with me but not through words; it's more of a feeling that this is something she wants, and in turn I feel so lucky and thrilled that I actually have a relationship with Hillary Clinton, candidate for President.
The images in the dream are of us at various places both public and private, and it is a wonderful feeling and a connection that we share. These images were not sharp but the dream feels very real and I feel I am in love with her and that she loves me.
I wake up feeling as if I am literally in love with Hillary Clinton. It is very palpable, and whenever I recall this dream or recount it, I feel a deeper connection to her.
Hillary and I were together in a house. She said, Go and get Bill. He's in the shower. I went to go and get him. The bathroom looked like ours at home. I knocked softly on the door and said, Bill? When he didn't answer, I pushed open the door and stepped inside the bathroom. I pulled back the shower curtain just a little. I saw Bill's back -- white with freckles.
He turned his head to me and said, Hey! -- not in a Hey, get out of here! way, but in a Hey, how ya doing? kind of way. I told him that Hillary wanted him, and I left the bathroom.
I am signing up for a class at a large university. Hillary and her people are there to help students register. Lots of people are milling around but Hillary has reserved ten minutes to talk directly with me. I think to myself, Oh dear, and I'm probably not even going to vote for her!
When she approaches me I say, I really don't need any help. But you look tired. Why don't you take the time you were going to spend with me and have a nap?
She say, Oh, really? Then we lie down together on the carpet and I put my arms around her and she falls asleep.
22 March 2008
Hillary came to my house where I was having a small gathering. While she was here, she asked to borrow my vacuum cleaner. We had a short conversation about the benefits of the old-school Electrolux vaccum, and I gave her some advice:
If you are going to buy a new vacuum and you have dogs, get one with a bag rather then a canister.
She told me that Bill has problems with dust mites and that she would consider this. Then we had a deep conversation about women in politics and worlds issues. She left and I went back to the party.
A few days before giving birth, I dream that I am in the hospital about to go into labor. Hillary Clinton is there and they decide to let her deliver my baby. Everything goes fine with the birth.
It is kind of a hassle afterwards, though, because there are all these news crews hanging around wanting to talk to me and Hillary and take photos of us, and I just want to cuddle my new baby and get some sleep.
I am inside a house, crouched behind a filing cabinet, rifle in hand. I rise up and fire, hitting my targets -- two women, one I can't identify, the other is Hillary. The first woman drops dead, but Hillary is only wounded and turns to me and returns fire. I duck, rise up again and discover I am out of ammo. I spin away, panicked. Hillary comes after me, stalking me. Then it occurs to me that I can run. I escape out the back door, relieved but not completely. I have a sense that the fight is not over.
I am in a car with Hillary –- an old 70s Mustang convertible. It is a low-riding vehicle and the top is down, even though it's very cold. She is driving on the highway very recklessly, too fast for the curves. She loses control of the car and it starts to swerve, going onto the shoulder, barely missing the other cars. I am getting mad at her, telling her to slow down, that she has no control of the car and is going to get us killed. She laughs maniacally, throwing her head back, saying we are fine. There is a secret service man crouched in the back seat who also mutters that we are fine, but he doesn't sound as if he believes it.
21 March 2008
I was fully dressed in my wedding dress and jewelery, and was peeking into the hall where I'd be getting married. The wedding coordinator informed me that I would have to share my space with a political networking event hosted by Mrs Hillary Clinton. I was told that all of her guests were going to be sitting watching my wedding ceremony. I was told that during the reception, her guests would be using the time to network and mingle. To top it off, she said that I would not be allowed to wear my wedding dress at the reception because Mrs. Clinton was afraid I would outshine her if I had my dress on.
I am sitting in the town hall of my hometown in Vermont on Town Meeting Day. There are rows of folding metal chairs facing the stage, filled with people. I know some, but not all of them. Hillary is sitting next to me, wearing a blue jacket. I ask her what she thinks of the primary controversy in Michigan and Florida and she responds, in a warm and confidential tone, Honestly, I'm so busy on the campaign trail, I can't keep up with what's going on.
We then start talking about our hair. We both express dissatisfaction with our hairstyles and I tell Hillary that I want to cut mine. I say, What do you think of her hair? and point to a blonde woman in front of us. The blonde turns around and it's Cindy McCain. She say to Hillary, in a confessional way, You know, I'm so busy, too, I don't know what's going on either.
20 March 2008
I am with Hillary Clinton and her people, traveling in a small, pick-up truck, while Hillary rides in another truck.
The two of us end up in a hotel room together. It's dusk, and we've come to rest before she gives a speech. I'm amazed to find myself alone with her, and quite taken with the room itself, particularly the antique wallpaper: small pink flowers on a cream background.
We eat leftovers together at small table, and I feel sad that though she is working so hard, she doesn't have nicer food. We talk about her speech. At one point she says, in a stripped-down, desperately honest voice: I want to be President so badly.
I think you will be, I reply.
Then, though she protests like a child, I tuck her into bed for a nap to rest before the speech.
In my dream I am a super-delegate. I'm sitting at the dining room table filling out the ballot. My husband looks over my shoulder. He sees that I am marking my ballot for Hillary and yells, I knew you voted for her all along! You voted for her in the primary didn’t you! Then I realise that I am a super-delegate. How did that happen? I begin to worry that I haven't voted wisely given the impact of my decision. I feel the heat of shame rising up my neck. I feel not worthy of being a super-delegate.
My husband says, How did you get to be a super-delegate anyway? Is it just because they knew you would vote for her? I want to hide the ballot and lie to him, tell him I really voted for Barack, but the truth is there right in front of us. There is nothing I can do.
19 March 2008
Hillary was driving with me to a biochemistry class. We were driving in a grey Mercedes and she was extremely beautiful with pretty pink lipstick, pearls and a yellow suit. I felt like she was supporting me in my life goals.
In my dream of Hillary, she has her Wellesley look, shaggy hair and little round glasses. I pick her up at a peace rally and we go back to her apartment. She has a waterbed, a Melanie poster (Candles in the Wind) and a book of Kahlil Gibran's poems but she won't put out. She was really interested in going to a peace rally and not just cruising. I am really put off but I leave with grudging respect for her.
Hillary and I were taking a standardized test. Instead of filling in the bubbles, Hillary was drawing earrings on the answer sheet. I thought, That looks like fun.
I had a dream that I received a personal email from Hilary Clinton, thanking me for inviting her to participate in Girls Day and sharing with me her t-shirt size. I don't remember what she said her size was. Then, in my dream, I had this revelation that I really ought to save that email since it may be valuable some day.
In real life, we are collecting t-shirt sizes to celebrate Girls Day at the State House.
I dreamed that I was acquaintances with Hillary Clinton, even though in real life I don't like or support her. Nevertheless, in my dream, I was bringing a few of my friends to meet her. After a complicated time finding her location, I go into a house alone and she is standing in the hall with her people. We say hello, then she leans over and says very snidely, I love how your boots almost match your coat... but not quite.
I woke up quite peeved.
I had the dream while in Madrid, during las rebajas, when every store has a sale, and I had been shopping for clothes.
Hillary was yelling at me for everything I've ever done wrong in my life, literally haranguing me that I need to make serious changes or my life will have been a waste of precious resources.
She was yelling, You need to lose some weight! You need to go back to work! You need to submit your book proposal! You need to get your shit together!
I woke up and realized that overnight I'd become a Barack supporter.
18 March 2008
Hillary rang my doorbell at 5:30 in the morning and presented me with a box of blue placemats and some condiments. She seemed tired, like she'd been campaigning all night, but also professional and serious. I took the placemats and condiments because I was helping with a fundraiser. I looked outside to see my neighbors setting up tables outside and making sandwiches to sell to raise money for Hillary.
Hillary was coming up the steps to my front door. In a panic, realizing I was wearing a big tin Obama button, I dashed toward the back of the house, yelling to my kids to waylay her. I didn't want her to see that I'd made the decision to support her opponent. I darted out to the back porch while hastily plastering something over my Obama pin so I could neutrally greet my high-profile visitor. As Hillary came into the front hall, I realized I'd pasted over my Obama pin with an Obama sticker.
Hillary and Bill came over to my apartment and it felt like one of those highly-orchestrated campaign stops where the candidate speaks with the common folks. My family was there too, and everyone was being very embarrassing, except my father. He and Bill hit it off, even though my father is a conservative. I spent the visit frantically rushing around the apartment trying to conceal evidence of my support for Obama.
17 March 2008
A journalist or some kind of insider provides me with Hillary's cell phone number. Without thinking about what time it is in the States, I call her at once. I'm feeling a bit shocked that this is really Hillary's cell phone number, but she answers -- it's her voice. I want to tell her not to play so dirty in the campaign, but then I realize that there's no way she's going to listen to me. So I tell her that I think she should use good karma in the campaign. Then I get scared and hang up and realize that it's probably about 3 in the morning her time.
So there was a jazz band playing. Hillary was in front of the stage with the mike, trying to be hip and somewhat relating to black people using language like Let me tell y'all about it!
Then she started to play the saxophone - she sounded awful. She obviously didn't fit in with the band. She was wearing a red dress and pearls, way out of her league in terms of hipness. It was unclear whether she had been invited to play, or the band had been paid for her to sit in, or she just showed up.
Hillary was at a classical music concert, slumped over in the chair asleep. I became worried that she was not getting enough sleep, and I remember thinking, I'd better get on the phones and raise more money for the campaign so Hillary can sleep.
16 March 2008
I am in the kitchen of my country house but it is open like a diner and there are a few dozen people there. Hillary walks in and sits right next to me. She is wearing a blue sweater, nice jeans and her hair is beautiful. None of the other people even recognize her. She speaks to me very gently and tells me about her life and is very affectionate, holding my hand and and closing her eyes. There is nothing sexual at all about this. It seems to be sincere affection. She keeps telling me that she is worried about me and wants to know how I am doing, and with each answer I give she closes her eyes and brings my hand up to her cheek. A gentle warm breeze is flowing over us, and through the big, open windows of the kitchen I can see flowers and blossoming trees everywhere.
When I woke, I found my opinion of her softened dramatically.
I was registering for a class at a large university. The hall was very crowded and Hillary and her people were helping us register as a way of promoting her campaign. Hillary had reserved 10 minutes or so to talk with me. I thought to myself, Oh dear, and I'm probably not even going to vote for her!
When she came up to me I said, You know, I really don't need any help. But you look tired. Why don't you take this time you were going to spend with me and take a nap?
She said, Oh, really? Then we laid down together on the carpet, and I put my arms around her and she went to sleep.
I had a dream that I met Hillary at a campaign event. She was being so pleasant that I did not have the heart to tell her that I was an Obama fan and would not be supporting her campaign. She was so genuinely impressed with my character that she urged me to give her my contact information and offered me a job. I obliged, just to be polite, but doubted I would get a call because I didn't believe she would ever be elected.
14 March 2008
Last night I dreamed I was making a salad for Hillary. There were plates of vegetables and I was carefully choosing some veggies from each plate to compose a scrumptious, elegant salad.
I was in a televised debate with Hillary. She looked at me and said firmly, I think we both know, Kate, that you are one of those women who stays at home and doesn't really do anything with her life.
For some reason, it seemed vitally important that I agree with her. Yes, that's true, I said, and we continued talking about the issues. But all through the rest of the debate I kept mentally berating myself. Why did I feel such a compulsion to agree with her statement? Yes, I'm at home with my kids, but I've never considered that doing nothing. I kept looking for an opening in which I could retract my words. Even after I woke up, for a couple of seconds I was thinking about how I could inform her campaign of my true position.
13 March 2008
It was the night before the Texas primary, and Hillary and her campaign manager were sharing a hotel room with me and my husband. Hillary and I sat on the king-sized bed watching the late night news report on her dim chances of winning the democratic nomination.
In the lamplight, I could see the cracks in her foundation. I felt bad for her. I pulled a box of thin mint Girl Scout cookies out of nowhere. This brought a smile to Hillary's face, a real smile. We devoured the cookies in no time. I ate mine the same way I used to while watching Days of Our Lives in the summers of my childhood: I carefully nibbled off as much of the waxy chocolate as possible before the cookie crumbled and had to be eaten. Hillary just chomped away.
When the last cookie had been devoured, the campaign manager gave me a panicked look. I didn't know what to say. I had no more cookies, and the sales season had ended last week. The campaign manager telepathically communicated to me that this was the first thing Hillary had enjoyed since the New Hampshire primary. I closed my eyes for a second and visualized a fresh box of cookies, and almost immediately they appeared on top of the armoire that housed the TV. Hillary opened the box and began to eat.
I gave her a playful punch on the shoulder and said, Well, I'm going to vote for you.
Thanks, she said. I mean it.
Once the news ended, Hillary slipped off her shoes and headed to the bathroom to change into her pajamas. We all needed to rest up for the big day. It felt like the eve of a funeral.
The last thing I remember was looking at Hillary's shoes, a rather scuffed pair of low heels in an almost 1940s, vintage style. I remember noticing what neat shoes they were, and that it's a pity you never see them peek out from underneath her pants. But what really surprised me was how worn they were. They'd look presentable from a distance, but I expected such a high-profile candidate to wear newer shoes.
Then it occurred to me that these cream-colored pumps must be her favorites, the shoes she feels most at home in, the ones she couldn't replace if she tried.
I woke up thinking what a weird notion that is, that maybe even Hillary Clinton has a favorite pair of shoes.
12 March 2008
I was at a Hillary Clinton press conference. When she appeared we were all stunned. She was wearing a gown reminiscent of Queen Elizabeth I -- a tight bodice with bubble-like bustles completely surrounding her waist like petals on a flower, and voluminous sleeves. The entire creation was made of gold and silver lame and looked more theatrical than authentically royal.
A male reporter asked her why she was wearing so much silver and she replied, My father was a miner.
I needed to make an appointment to see my OB/GYN. When I arrived at the office, the staff tried to convince me to see another doctor, but I refused, saying I really wanted Hillary to deliver my baby and I needed to see her. They made me wait for a very long time, but finally she came into the office for my appointment. We hugged and I was so relieved that she was finally there and could see me.
This dream was submitted a mother who heard the dream from her daughter:
All of my gymnastics friends were sitting on a big piece of cheese. It was pretend cheese because you could sit on it. I met one pirate that looked like a basketball player. He was holding a basketball and had short sleeves. Then I had a fight with the pirates. I heard Hillary Clinton say they were going to kill me, but I'm more powerful. She was wearing a black coat but I couldn't see what colour was underneath. I had two powers, they just had one power in their gold, but if they run out of gold they don't have any more. I had a hockey stick and a sword. It looked like a hockey player and I cut both of the arms off of that person, then I put them back on again. After that, I forget.
I ran into Hillary at a gathering and we got separated from the others, going ahead in time and space. Hillary was relaxed and patient, enjoying the time away from the campaign. She began to let on that she was worried about things; she needed advice and a new campaign manager. I felt a little disappointed when she picked a friend of mine who was smarter than me. She went ahead with him and now I was left behind in time and space.
I called out to her loudly, Take of your gloves, and fight! Hillary smiled back at me and waved.
I was in a large restaurant. Hillary came over to my table and sat down with me for a half hour or so and told me all about why she wants to be president. Then she went to go speak to the audience in the room, and Bill replaced her at my table while Hillary spoke with the crowd. She was brilliant, formidable, and slick. They both were. After she was done, she returned to my table, looked me in the eye and asked for my support. I shook her hand and told her she could count on my vote.
11 March 2008
I was reading a magazine article about Hillary. Then I got to the part that read: Also, she can be cruel. She enjoys wearing $1 billion dresses, one of which is made from the fleece of an endangered penguin.
There was a picture of Hillary in the penguin dress; it looked like a zip-up penguin costume made of polar fleece, and would probably keep you warm.
In real life, my little sister is addicted to exercising. She wakes up at four in the morning to go to the gym. She signs up for temporary memberships whenever she visits a new city. In my dream, she was explaining to me why she didn't like Hillary Clinton.
I don't trust her, she told me. She claims she goes to the gym every day but have your seen her body? I know for a fact that if you spend thirty minutes on a treadmill, you are guaranteed to lose at least one pound a day. There's no way Hillary exercises half as much as she claims to. And if I can't believe her about that, I can't believe her about anything.
I was at a sweet country inn, the type of bed and breakfast that you would escape to for a romantic weekend. It could have been in upstate New York, or maybe New Hampshire. The inn was right next to a lake. A woman came down the stairs in a red bathing suit. She was magnetic, and everyone was staring at her. She carried herself so well in that bathing suit, even though her figure was not that of a supermodel. I admired her as well, and realized that I was having a little girl crush on Hillary, the lady in the bathing suit. However, I told my friends at the inn that I wasn't going to vote for the dazzling senator.
My friends were aghast. You mean, they said, that you won't vote for your own Mother!
Hillary was my college professor for a deaf studies class. A deaf guest was visiting the class, so Hillary decided to have one of the Assisted Sign Language students interpret for the deaf person. I was outraged. I told her it was wrong to use a student, that interpreters need to be trained and skilled -- not only knowing in how to sign, but how to interpret. She did not care so I protested in front of the class with some of my classmates.
10 March 2008
Hillary and my daughter Jessica came into my kitchen through the back sliding patio door. Hillary was wearing a dark blue wool coat with a lighter blue scarf around her neck. A strand of her hair was hanging down the side of her face. I greeted them both, and Jessica started taking off her coat, while Hillary kept hers on, like she was only giving Jessica a ride to my house.
Concerned about Hillary, I turned to her and said, You look a little ragged.
She said, Yeah, I'm a little tired. She then handed me a rent check and left.
Hillary was in our guest bedroom and was putting on one of my wife's cashmere sweaters, a pink one. I protested because she was putting it on over a black bra and it showed through the fabric glaringly. When I brought this up, she seemed genuinely worried about me, and asked me to sit down, like I was a visitor.
The next scene was at the breakfast table. She was eating french toast in prodigiously large bites and I was worried about the syrup soiling the front of the sweater and drawing more attention to the show-through. She asked me if I would join her for breakfast and handed me a fork. I began eating off her plate.
I was walking down a dirt road in a remote mountain town. A hunter with a brace of rabbits was walking in the opposite direction. Three tigers walked over to him and started to harrass him, and the hunter and I both had to take refuge in a car. The tigers heard something and went off.
I left the car and went to stand on the stairs of the building where we were apparently having a town primary. As I was waiting and talking to the other women in line, the tigers came in through a huge cat door in the wall, passed us on the stairs, and went up to Hillary.
Hillary said, There you are, my babies. Mummy’s so glad you’re back, and bent down to nuzzle and scratch the belly of the first tiger, who had rolled over and was purring at her.I have no idea what this dream means.
I had a dream about Hillary, although I remember only the end. She was president and was ordering a nuclear strike. I have no recollection of who it was against, or the circumstances that led up to it, but I was very frightened in the dream.
Last night I dreamed my head was resting on Hillary Clinton's thigh, her left one, as we were riding in the back of her car. She was wearing sunglasses, the big, round kind, and didn't take them off even though I wanted her to. She brought her hand down to my cheek as I nuzzled into her jeans.
09 March 2008
08 March 2008
It started in my house during a terrible thunderstorm. My mom, dad, wife, best friend, and Hillary Clinton chatted as the storm got worse. Then a tornado warning siren went off and we all ran into the basement bomb shelter. I grabbed the dogs. Things outside continued to get worse and I desperately tried looking up the weather forecast on the internet. Hillary remained calm and collected until I reported that two giants aliens had started fighting in the river.
07 March 2008
Barack and Hillary picked me up in a beat-up car and started talking with me. Hillary sat in the back seat while I had the front passenger seat. I was talking out of my ass a lot, as I do in real life, and eventually conversation turned to the Middle East.
I said, Well, who knows about attrition? Maybe these suicide bombers will find that they keep hitting a brick wall.
I looked at them to determine their response. They were not laughing. I gave them the Come on, you know you want to look, and they began to admit that it was funny. Hillary caved first and did the pfffft laugh, but she was looking at Barack to see whether she should laugh at it. Meanwhile, he's got a huge grin on his face and says, That was pretty good... pretty good.
05 March 2008
I was in the grocery store to pick up some dinner. It was on the second floor at the top of a long escalator. Inside the store I ran into my mom, who was leaving. I didn't know you shopped here, she said. Yeah, I shop here sometimes, I replied, but usually I shop at Loblaws.
Then my Mom left and I headed for the upright freezers at the back of the store. Inside the freezer were these gigantic triangular slices of pizza with no wrapping or packaging. I flipped through the slices, unimpressed with the sparse toppings. People kept reaching past me to paw through the slices.
I got grossed out and turned to leave, but then in the back of the store I saw Hillary Clinton: pantsuit, eyes shining, shaking people's hands.
Hmm, I thought. Why not meet Hillary? I stepped forward and said, Hi, Hillary. I was impressed by her handshake: firm, but not too firm. She looked me right in the eyes. And what's your name? she said. I told her my name and she smiled: That's a nice name.
I slept really hard last night and dreamed that Hillary Clinton became President of the U.S., and Korea, China and Russia declared war on America and were going to launch nuclear missiles, and Clinton and others were ready to surrender to prevent devastation to the population.
04 March 2008
I had a dream last night that Hillary was about to give a concession speech. Supporters in the audience could tell what was coming because her voice began choking up. Everybody became very upset in an almost biblical way – shouting, tearing their clothes. Those guys who use the lighted wands to direct aircraft on the ground came on stage to try to calm the crowds – to no avail.
02 March 2008
Hillary was at my house, although it didn't look like anywhere I have actually lived. I had her rest on the couch, and her hair turned white like Bill's! I went off to look for my honeymoon photos to show her, and my husband was telling me where they were, except it wasn't my present husband -- it was the voice and body of my first husband. EWW.
Hillary showed up at a cook-out I was at. She was wearing a yellow pantsuit and sitting across from me at the picnic table, just eating her burger. I wanted to speak to her, but I couldn't think of anything to say. I would begin to ask her a question, but then I would just stop smile. She would smile back. The silence was super awkward, but kind of nice because we both needed the quiet time.
29 February 2008
I was watching a news special about Hillary Clinton on TV, and she had two husbands -- one was Bill Clinton, but she was talking about her other husband. Her other husband was a college student in the United States who played Division One basketball, and whose father was from Libya. In the dream he was interviewed about Hillary and he sounded like he really loved her. He said he had a lot of pride in his roots and he wanted Hillary to learn more about Libya.
28 February 2008
I had a dream where Hillary Clinton and I got into a screaming fight. There were two parts to the dream. The first involved my irritating her by asking her an unscripted question at a public appearance. The second involved me dancing at some sort of club upstairs from the arena at which she spoke. I was wearing a metallic necklace, either copper or brass or gold, or some alloy of these. Hillary showed up and kept staring at it. This made me extremely angry and I finally told her off for being so rude.
I was escorting Hillary to the stage at a rally at some fairgrounds. When I greeted her, I was surprised to discover she was wearing a completely over-the-top red ball gown and spiky heels that poked holes in the soil as we walked. I was really worried she was going to make a fool of herself, but I tried to pretend that she looked absolutely fine.
A few of us voters/volunteers were at the mall, sitting on a bench. Hillary comes up to us all nice. I'm about to tell her that, sadly, I'll be voting for Obama, but then she brings us inside this room that I guess is campaign headquarters but looks like a small living room. She sits us down on the sofa and confesses that she's got cancer, but that it can't get out because it could ruin the election. We're all really sad and I start to change my mind about voting for Obama. But then I geek out and tell her it's all going to be okay because that happened to President Roslin on BSG and she ended up all right. Hillary looked at me all funny, like What the hell are you talking about and what is BSG? (That's Battlestar Gallactica.) I'm like, Never mind, then we all start strategising about how to keep this from leaking to the media.
One of the guys leaps up and finds a tiny dot on a nearby bookshelf, and we determine that it's a bug and that one of the Republican candidates had the room bugged and now they know. Hillary suddenly mobilizes us to find out who planted it and to get them to not release the news.
But then my dream degenerated into some giant rock monster trying to kill all the kids in Rainbow Land and the monster was keeping Rainbow Brite hostage and forcing her to shoot rainbows out of her belt. He would run the rainbows through this spaghetti-like shredder and turn them into a pool of muck. All the little color kids were slowly getting younger and younger until they melted into the muck, too. Then there was this little outcast girl whose color didn't fit into the rainbow (it was teal or mint) and she alone had the power to stop the rock monster. So she rides up to him on this wire floaty thing in the river of dead rainbows and stuns him with a lightning bolt or something, which makes its way through all the kids and brings them back to their regular size and they start to plan on how to save rainbow.
27 February 2008
26 February 2008
Last night's dream left me with an admiration and a desire for Hillary that I have never felt before. We were making love and I, for the first time in my life, had feelings of sympathy and admiration for her. There was little talking, but I recall feeling all of her life's power and accomplishment during the act, something I have never really acknowledged. To my frustration, my lovemaking skills were not enough for her. That part of myself which I had previously taken pride in and had never failed to successfully use (particularly in a dream) was failing. I remember whispering soft words of passion to her, changing my physical techniques, but nothing seemed to trigger the physical response I was seeking. I was so confused and disappointed by my failure to please her that I awoke feeling sexually inadequate for the first time in my life. But this inadequacy left me with a new admiration for her power, something I had never quite thought about before. I saw how all of the power in her life was acquired through a personal sacrifice of sexual desires.
25 February 2008
I was Hillary Clinton's personal assistant and I was miserable, partially because we were working non-stop on little sleep, but also because she was a tyrant. It was about three in the morning after a rally. She yelled at me in front of a group of people for a small mix-up I had nothing to do with. I commiserated with my coworkers. Though we were unhappy, we concluded that we were stuck: we couldn't quit because how could we get another job at this stage in the election cycle.
24 February 2008
It started in a crowd, an urgent, threatening crowd. I got Hillary Clinton into the car, in the driver's seat. I sat in the passenger seat and had a hard time clicking the seat belt closed. We drove in silence and I kept looking over at her, trying to figure out what to say. She was a good driver, though a bit of a tailgater (which makes me nervous). At some point, I was suddenly in the back seat, right behind her, and I had a big stack of papers on my lap that I was sorting into piles on the seat next to me. I was holding some paper clips between my teeth, which is perhaps why I spoke with a German-Russian accent.
I told her, Senator Clinton, ma'am, I would be happy to drive if you have something else you need to do, but she just smiled and kept driving.
On a highway we had to stop short just as we would have passed under a bridge, since a road crew was blocking almost the whole road, filling in a giant, muddy, watery hole right in front of us that had an orange road barrier sticking out of it, with more barriers around the hole. The workers were very focused on their jobs and didn't look up.
Hillary opened the door and got out, looking around, and so did I, thinking she wanted me to drive now. The workers began elbowing each other and muttering in South-of-the-Thames accents, Isn't that Hillary, love? Then we got back in the car and she drove - backing up and turning to drive across the wide median to the other side of the highway, and we headed back the way he had come.
She looked at me through the rear-view mirror and asked why I wanted to drive. I said, surprised that it wasn't obvious, Well, ma'am, because you are the next President of the United States, and I want to help you. I'm sure there is something you want to do besides driving the car. Even if it's thinking. Thinking is very important. I want to help you become the next President of the United States. She grew thoughtful.
We arrived at a dining hall at the University of Virginia (my undergrad). Bill Clinton was there. My heart leapt and I blushed when I saw him. Hillary and I got separated. I knew I was supposed to be meeting someone else there, yet I also knew that I was responsible for bringing the Clintons to the dining hall.
Strange security measures were in place there: trays bolted to tables, everything brightly lit, only one direction to walk in. I got a tray, silverware, an empty glass, and a monkey dish of pineapple.
The Clintons and I sat in a row at a table and started talking. Then my parents -- as they were 18 years ago -- came up to us. I introduced them, but the Clintons already knew who they were. My Dad did a happy little jig, kicking his feet up, then my Mom pulled him away. I felt guilty, because it was my parents I was supposed to meet, and I apologized to the Clintons because I had to go with my parents, but they were like, No no no, stay here.
22 February 2008
I went up to Hillary Clinton and said, Thank you for running, it means a lot to us. She rolled her eyes in this weird way so that I couldn't tell if she was rolling her eyes because she was moved by what I said and was trying not to cry, or if she was rolling her eyes in the Bitch, please, I know you like Barack sense.
So in the dream I turned to my mother and asked her opinion. I don't know, my mother said, but she has beautiful skin up close. And she did, too.
I was at a campground. There was a large building, but when I went inside, it was remarkably small. There were bleachers like you would see at a child’s outdoor baseball game. I sat among the small crowd of people there. Then I noticed that Barack Obama and Hillary were near -- close enough that I could talk to them. In the dream, there had been a couple of state primaries and Barack had taken the lead. I began telling Hillary that it would all be okay, it would work out. It felt very normal and matter-of-fact to be speaking with her. Next thing I knew, I was wandering around outside, carrying the biggest Obama for President sign ever.
21 February 2008
I was strategizing with James Carville and Hillary in the Clinton’s living room. Bill was frolicking – jumping around on the furniture, running to and from the window. He was mute in the dream; physically couldn’t talk. Carville and Hillary and I were discussing something, then Hillary took me into the kitchen to have a girl talk, with her favorite dog in arms. The discussion descended into a mundane, uncomfortable conversation about whether or not she should attend the Cannes Film Festival this year.
Then I was back in the living room with Carville and Bill. Bill disappeared behind a secret rotating panel in the fireplace, which spun around like a secret passageway, but when it turned around (allowing him and the fireplace to disappear behind the wall), the other side had a picture of him painted on it, except dressed up like Napoleon..
Carville started hitting on me in the darkened living room (darkened because the fireplace had been the only light source). When I told him I was married he said that everything was negotiable and we should discuss it over dinner at his place. Then I said, But you're married too! Then he said, That's just branding, sugar, now follow me. He started to lead me down a hallway, then my alarm went off.
19 February 2008
In my dream, Hillary kissed me a few times on the cheek. She had hot red lipstick on. I saw Bill's pecs. He had a hot bod. For a second I thought I was going to sleep with him, but then I ended up in a car with someone I didn't know and I learned about Obama's secret affair with his black slave servant.
I was walking with Hillary down by the railroad tracks in my hometown, Illinois. She had her arm around my shoulder and I had my arm around her waist and she felt soft and nice, like my mom. I wondered if people would think I was Chelsea. After walking in comfort and silence for a while, I quietly said, Hillary, I love you. She said, in a very harsh voice, Well, Obama's policies and his personality are just so STUPID. And the spell was broken.
Then I had to crawl on the ground while Hillary kept walking upright. I had to crawl under a big salt overhang and the ground was made of salt crystals. I saw a small pink penis lying on a slab of salt on the ground, but Hillary couldn't see it because she was so far above me and not looking down.
Hillary Clinton and my mother were standing together looking l like sisters. I said to my mother that she and Hillary had a lot in common. (My mother turned me onto Bob Dylan and Joan Biaz in the sixties. She was against the Vietnam War and always focused on the downtrodden.)
The next night, I had a dream that Bill and Hillary Clinton were dancing in a soft embrace, he in a Navy uniform and she wearing a vintage 40's or 50's dress. The dream seemed to be precognitive because I caught a news clip of Bill Clinton the next day telling South Carolinians that he was so lucky, because he had married his best friend.
Hillary Clinton and half her campaign staff came in to eat. They sat in my section, which was cool at first, but then they started requesting all sorts of food that we don't serve, like baked potatoes, bouillabaisse, and "English tea squares." I tried to explain that we didn't serve those. They got mad. My section filled up, I was beyond weeded, I tried to get the manager to help me, but he was walking too fast for me to catch him!
18 February 2008
I was standing with Hillary and a man who was her former husband (much better looking than Bill Clinton). She was berating him and recounting all the things that she did not like about him when she was married to him. He was looking very hurt, and I felt badly for him. I also felt protective. We turned away so that we would not hear her.
I had a dream the other night where I was in one room of a house, but important events were taking place both in that room and another room of the house. How did I keep track of events in the other room?
My dream had a CNN-style crawl keeping me updated.
I was at some kind of county fair and Hillary walked up to me and said Hi Dan! (I didn’t know how she knew my name.) I’m Hillary Clinton. Are you going to vote for me?
I told her that I hadn’t decided yet, but wanted to know more about what she stood for. She told me that she had to go to the restroom, but that if I went with her into the bathroom she would talk to me while she took care of business. I followed her into the restroom and she went into one of the stalls. She started talking about her platform but I wasn’t paying attention because I was trying to get the bathroom door locked. I didn’t want to get caught in a women’s restroom with Hillary Clinton.
She came walking out of the stall with a Dole pineapple whip (like they sell at Disneyland). She said, Look what I found in the stall. This is delicious!
I told her that she shouldn’t be eating that because who knows where it came from and who knows how long it had been in there, but she wouldn't listen. I said I had to go, but I would definitely be voting for her. I was lying so I could get away. She thanked me and asked if I knew where to get some ribs.
I had a scary dream about the aftermath of the election. I was watching a news broadcast from Mexico. They were complaining about the huge amount of illegal aliens that were flooding in from the United States. At first this shocked me so I dug a little deeper and found that Hillary Clinton had won the election with Obama as her VP. I also found out that Canada was having the same type of problem.
I was sitting in a church, listening while the pastor rolled off a diatribe against Hillary running for president and how we Christians need to stand against her so that she cannot attain the office. Hillary was sitting in the congregation. Someone noticed and got up and went to her to apologize and explain that it isn’t usually like this in this church, which brought the whole service to a halt. The pastor was unrepentant, but was embarrassed only because his speech blew up in his face. Everyone else simply felt guilty because they agreed with what he said, but were faced with the very person against whom their feelings were directed.
I was at a seedy mall with a friend. These men in black came up and said that Hillary Clinton wanted to talk to us. We followed them through a bunch of corridors to a dirty little folding-chair storage room where we proceeded to have a long talk with Hillary. She was trying to convince me to vote for her. At the end, we all stood up and I extended my hand to shake hers. She hugged me instead. I hated this. Then my friend and I walked back down the corridors. She was wearing the worst perfume ever. I woke up with that icky feeling I get when someone I am not fond of touches me.
Hillary Clinton and George W. Bush were having a secret love affair, and for some reason, I was sharing a one-bedroom apartment (and a comically over-sized bed) with them. At some point they wanted to get freaky, and I stomped out of the bedroom in a huff.
Next thing I know, I’m in the kitchen frying bacon and suddenly Bill Clinton comes bursting in, all Where are they!? I gesture toward the bedroom with my spatula. As he’s heading back there, I ask him to please not hurt anyone or break anything. He turns to me and starts laughing.
“Sweetie, I ain’t gonna hurt nobody,” he says. “I just wanna see what the hay-ull this looks like.”
Then he starts hitting on me.
I walked into a restaurant and Bill and Hillary were sitting at the bar. At first I didn't realize it, but Bill Clinton was hitting on me. Hillary regarded me coolly. Then Bill leaned close to my ear and said in that voice of his: "I like the way you dress."