I dreamt that Sam Truitt and I accompanied my late mother and stepfather to a theatrical event. We walked up to the marquee in a small town and picked up our tickets. As we walked away in the afternoon light, cars were pouring into the town, including many limos, with people who wanted to see the show. It seemed strange that people were arriving so early. It was slightly dangerous to cross the main street, which made a big turn coming into town. We went into a supermarket, where Mom and Eli were buying some things. I told them to get a pack of cigarettes. When they emptied their bag at the cash register, two packs of cigarettes spilled out. I hadn’t asked for two packs. And what brand were they? After the purchase, we sat at a table going through the purchases. Mom was holding the theater tickets in one hand while she went through the items, and that created a coordination problem for her. Eli pressed her to go through the items more quickly. Mom turned to Eli and said, “I can’t do it so fast,” but what she was really saying was, “Please don’t be hard on me, especially in front of them.”
I dreamt that I was giving a poetry reading, going second. It was in a big room, below street level. I was trying to decide whether to read the introduction to Fleeting Memories or to Inner Voices Heard Before Sleep. I made a decision, but then a woman I respected persuaded me not to carry it out. Meanwhile, there was a delay between the first reader and me. The MC was addressing a bunch of unnecessary questions from someone. I looked around the room. It had thinned considerably in the interim. Was Clark Coolidge still there? I wanted him to hear me. My work buddy Rob Rossi was standing near the MC. I walked up to him. He asked how things were going. I said, “Not great.” Then I reached out and touched him on the arm and gave him a big smile. For some reason, I believed touching him on the arm would make me feel better, and it did. I even noticed a few people coming down the ramp into the room.