A nightful of Lulu’s

I’m not a poster-of-dreams in this blog, but I had a nightful of lulu’s and they are still zipping through my head like scenes from a Tarantino movie watched under the influence of NyQuil, so I’m going to write them out and then you folks can laugh yourselves silly at my subconscious – or those three insightful bloggers Dr. Sanity (talking self-esteem and self-worship, today) or, Shrinkwrapped (exploring bear-baiting) and Sigmund (writing about misplaced hero-worship) can declare me certifiable for the new year.

In all of my dreams, I am young, in my 20’s. Sigh. Dreaming, alright. And curiously, my dreams all seem to touch – however slightly, on what our psychoanalytical friends are posting today.

1) I am a young nun preparing to give a vocal recital (?). I have just finished my first song (Either “Happy days are here again” or “Pack up your troubles in your own kit bag and smile…” or something mindlessly optimistic like that) and my small audience of upper-west siders is restless and wondering if there is something else to do. My accompanist, paid in advance, takes off and I’m left with no one to play, and about 60 lesbians and liberals who are getting impatient. I call out for help and suddenly the doors open and various monks and nuns come in and cheerfully fill the empty seats – one of them can play the piano! Dominicans! Benedictines! Franciscans! They start to fill up the place and suddenly where things appeared hopeless, there is energy and expectation, and I’m ready to sing my songs. One of the bored lesbians nudges her galpal as if to say, “let’s get going,” and I call out to her, “sit the hell back down, young lady, I’m ready to sing, and it’s going to be better than you think! Sorry for the ‘hell’ but I’m a New York nun!” Surprised and amused, she sits down and I begin my song.

Photo by Ann Althouse

2) I am in Maui with my mother-in-law and one of her lady friends, and we’re watching Hawaiian women swim as they sing/chant. It’s glorious and I finally give into the temptation to swim with them. My mother in law and her pal join me, and back on shore, my purse gets cleaned out. Money, wallet, rosary, housekeys, it’s all gone, leaving me incredibly vulnerable and without resources. I’m angry and afraid, and also very sad that the Hawaiian women have all swum by and I have missed the chance to join the chant.

Photo H/T Julie

3) I am in an airplane flying first class from somewhere in Europe, back home. Next to me is a hottie actor, but I can’ t figure out if he is Jim Caviezel or Ralph Fiennes. We speak and he is utterly charming and warm and lovely. I have an awful crush on whoever he is, but I know that I am a journalist so it would be unprofessional to love him. Then it occurs to me that he is neither actor. He is Jesus. I swoon interiorly and get even more shy.

4) I am pulling into my driveway when I see in the nightsky that something has happened up there – an explosion or something – the sky is all alight in one area. I open my door determined to go right to the internet to see what’s going on. As I step through the door, I enter a newsroom. People are running around getting ready for presidential remarks. Someone asks me if I want a ham sandwich. Two women talk about salad. I stare at a screen that SHOULD be the Drudge Report, but instead it is streaming video; I can see the East Room at the White House in readiness, various staffer’s moving around. “What’s happened, there is nothing on Drudge,” I ask “What has happened?” In the background I can hear Ted Koppel droning about how soft the carpeting we can see truly is. I sit at my desk, adjust a blotter and think; no wonder people want to be journalists – it’s all so exciting and insider/outsider…and yet, I think…something is just really “off” about all of this.