dulcetly...notes on a bookish life

So the other night I dreamed about AWP, except it wasn't really in a hotel but more like someone's house, and there weren't so much panels and bookfairs as there was a big party and a bbq. I was much less interested in talking to poets or about poetry than I was in seducing someone (non-poet) who had come with me. There was a reading going on in the living room where a woman who sort of looked like someone I knew was getting a backrub and reading my poems with my voice, but she obviously wasn't me. I kept worrying people thought she was me. I kept worrying that we were actually supposed to be organizing discussions and selling books, but everyone else seemed interested in hanging out on the porch. Oddly, this was not my grandmother's house that I usually dream about, but my Aunt's (which does not actually have a porch but I do dream about it sometimes too.)

Last night I dreamed of my other Aunt's house and left-over food we were trying to save in the freezer but which kept appearing out of no-where, trays full of pastel macaroons and small sandwiches that were going bad too quickly (this might be related to the garden party entry yesterday). But I was also simultaneously at work somehow and trying to close up the library for the night despite the large insects that were lingering on the wall over the coffee bar. In work dreams we are always having a blackout, a computer crash, or a natural disaster of some random sort. Either that or I have returned from vacation and someone has been moving the desks around or making weird decisions on how to best check out books. Luckily, I do not dream of shelving like I did at my job in the elementary school, but I do dream about trying to get people to leave who keep appearing everytime I turn my back and won't go. Occasionally, we also have elevators that go sideways and several secret floors that look occasionally like a department store. Sometimes there are slumber parties.