Anna S. (eliade) wrote,
Anna S.

in my dreams.

Tossed and turned again but had an amazing dream last night. A dream date. I met a man--older, lean, dark-haired, sort of a David Strathairn type. He was a performance artist and he invited me to the back of his shop to see his latest piece: a tiny bathroom whose floor had been stacked with rubber flowers, to about knee-level. I asked him if he used the bathroom and he said no, it was just for viewing. This seemed to contradict the meaning of "performance art," but I'm not sure I said that.

It was late at night, after midnight, but we went for a walk; we were in the city where I grew up, Virginia Beach, strolling the boardwalk through an elaborate architectural chain of markets and open-air restaurants and cafes, and houses that had been thrown open for parties, surrounded on all sides by looming, garish carnival rides--roller coasters, ferris wheels, giant balloons, the Eiffel Tower--and enormous trees looped in fairy lights.

Nothing special happened. I just remember this amazing feeling of being with someone who was attracted to me, in the flesh, even though in the flesh I am blah.

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