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.