As dreams go this one was pretty peculiar. I can’t figure out where it came from at all
as it bears no resemblance to anything going on or that has gone on before in
my life. I never knew Jack Kennedy. I am sure that he was never the owner or
manager of a bar and grille-a seedy one at that-and I am most positive I have
never tried to (or had to) wipe my ass with a dinner roll. And yet there he was, the president or once
president of the United
States of America following me around a run-down
bistro with a bar towel draped over his arm.
He was trying to get me to do some work for him fixing up the place and I
didn’t want to.
I woke up and looked at the clock on the little black table
next to my side of the bed. It is very
bright and the numerals on the digital read out are very red, casting a red
glow onto the wall next to the spot where a head board might start if we had
one. Lizzy has been wanting a head board
for years. It is a project I've planned to work on for her some day-making a decorative headboard for her. But I am not in the mood for
headboards right now. Anyway, the clock said 3:12
and I had to pee. But I thought to
myself I can wait ‘till 5:30 and tried to go back to sleep. The president was still following me when the
shadow of my eyelids blocked out the red glow of the clock. He followed me into the men’s room. I hid in a stall and sat down on the
toilet. He was right outside the flimsy
metal cubicle door pacing back and forth with the dishtowel on his
forearm. I figured since I was in there
I might as well take a dump. Why waste
time. I did.
But then the dream takes a turn for the worse. I look for the toilet paper and realize there
is none.
At work everybody likes to use really soft toilet paper with
two plies. The rolls are like fluffy
quilts on a roll and the stuff feels like tee shirts or diapers with fuzz. I am not used to paper like that. When I use it, it makes little pills on my
ass and I imagine all nine million people in the New York City area walking around with linty
asses. And all nine million of them
flushing huge cotton swabs of fluffy paper into the sewer and a river of
cottony muck flows under the ground. It
grosses me out. I like single ply papery
toilet paper. I know how to fold it
right and it doesn’t leave a bunch of cotton bolls up my ass.
So, I say to JFK…under the stall door, “Is there any toilet paper out there?” and without an answer he slides a wicker
basket with a cloth napkin full of dinner rolls under the door. I don’t know why I never consider using the napkin. In fact I just thought of it now. The napkin was definitely in the dream but it
never occurred to me to use it to wipe with.
I assumed the rolls were what I was supposed to use and I tried. They were beautiful looking rolls…kind of
like dinner rolls with egg wash on top that made them look golden and
glossy. But as toilet paper they were a
complete flop. They must have been too
fresh or too stale I don’t know. All I
know is that they turned to crumbs the minute I tried to wipe with them . The entire area around the toilet was
littered with crumbled dinner rolls and I was still not clean, and John F.
Kennedy was waiting outside the stall (pacing back and forth and back and
forth) just waiting for me to finish so he could show me more restaurant
repairs.
I offer this up for your consideration. Maybe someone will know how it is we dream what it is we dream? I don't know.
