Saturday, May 21, 2005

A strange yarn 

In my dream, I am at a yarn exposition. (I don't know if there is such a thing, but that's where I am.) A lot of the attendees have teenage daughters who are wearing homemade knit goods such as headbands, sweaters, scarves, and--most puzzlingly--Raggedy-Ann-type wigs made of softly pearlescent yarns in robin's-egg-blue, pale raspberry, and other understated colors.

A buffet dinner is served. We are only allowed to go through the line once, but I overhear someone being told that they can sneak back and get more petite peas if they like.

I get up to join the dinner line and an older man catches hold of my arm. I pull, trying to get away, but he just laughs at me. Suddenly I lose my sense of propriety and start shouting "LET ME GO, MOTHERF---ER!" Except I don't lose it altogether, because I whisper the "F---" part each time.

The man laughs and runs away, and I find myself talking to Elliot Stabler, who assures me that we will be able to find the man and bring him to justice because he is wearing a particular kind of IV in the back of his head.

[by Jamie]

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