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.
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 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.