this one time, at blogger camp...
I usually remember every detail of my dreams, in great clarity. However, this morning I've been frustrated at not being able to recall my dream, but able to recall just the sense that it was something I may not want to remember.
And then I'm on an early morning phone call with an attorney and, bam! Mid-sentence I remember the dream. My mouth hangs open.
The attorney is yelling into his cell "Hello? You still there? Hello?"
Oh yea, sorry, just remembered that I dreamed last night of being in a three-way with some bloggers who will remain unnamed and my parents walked into the bedroom and caught us in the act and I couldn't find my panties and there I am scrambling around, naked and embarassed and finally the police pull up, sirens blaring and hustle us off in our birthday suits because we had some nerve having sex together when there were other bloggers who weren't getting any at all, and there were reporters at the station house and Mickey Kaus had a whole column about it the next day and my god, my parents were mortified but, hey, my blog made number one in the ecosystem because everyone wanted to see if I was going to post pictures of my sexual liason with the two unnamed bloggers.
"Sorry," I say to the attorney, "must have lost the connection for a second."
If only there were a recycle bin for dreams.