Anna S. (eliade) wrote,
Anna S.
eliade

it must have been the curry

I had many strange dreams last night. I dreamed that my brother was having seizures and we had to take him to the hospital; then we learned that, secretly, he'd been in the Army for a short time when he was 18 and had been exposed to nerve-gas testing. He had a mysterious background, as did his friends, that was coming unraveled and exposed.

Later, I found a glossy, professionally published fanzine in my mother's sewing room. Most of it was the first part of a slash novel about my brother and a good friend of his. I read it all, fascinated despite the wrongness of it. It had stuff in it about my father which was impossible for anyone outside our family to know, such as the fact that he wished to be buried in Maine when he died.

In another dream, I was in the Army myself, a chic and highly prized recruit who knew Israeli arts of self-defense and made heads turn as I went by. A very drunk and naked Tom Hanks, who was assigned as my mentor, made a half-hearted pass at me while showing me around the base, before falling over and passing out.

And now I work.
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