dreams: September 13, 1998
Mom is too American
I'm up at Mom's house. I go into
the kitchen, looking for some vanilla ice cream.
I open the freezer and don't see any.
I open the fridge and cupboards ; I'm kind of disgusted
by all the "fake" food -- Diet Pepsi, Lean Cuisines, microwaveable popcorn,
etc. On the top shelf of the cupboard I see a red, tin, round cookie
box with the same labeling as Ritz crackers and the
raisin lady with the red bonnet. I open
up the box and see tiny delicate white cookes in different shapes,
divided by white little muffin cup papers. I know
Mom bouught them to serve to company (i.e. Patty, her only friend), to
eat with tea or something.
I grab a few and eat them. Mom walks in.
She says something to me (about a "bookbag"?), but I can't hear what
she says.
I ask her to repeat herself.
"What?" she asks sharply. I tell her I didn't
hear what she said.
"I don't know," she says, again sharply. Finally I get her
to repeat it. She asks if I saw that she "filled the kitchen with
good food." I tell her no, pointing
out that it's all garbage, and that I prefer
real food.
I go outside to the front driveway.
It's filled with two trucks attached to motorboats on trailers.
I think to myself how Mom is so
"over-American" in her lifestlye, living for materialism and
empty manufactured things. I can't stand it.
I really want vanilla ice cream,
so I just make it happen. Suddenly I'm eating it out of a cup --
spoonfuls of cold white ice cream. I sit in the middle of
the road, looking down Beach Street. I wonder what
would happen if I pushed one of the boats down the hill, unhooking it from the truck?
I see lots of potluck parties and baseball game happening down the street.
Then I'm mad at Phoebe for using my things without asking. I tell her
and she's disrespectful. I tell her to buy some new tampons
for me since she used up all of mine.
- FIN -