CALL ME CHARON
When the guy from the funeral home paged me, I went right down to the lobby to meet him.
I can always spot the funeral home people. They are usually the most nicely dressed people in the lobby. And they always have that black leather folder with gold corners containing the unsigned Death Certificate papers. Waiting for my signed copper piece to allow their postmortem journeymen to complete the journey into the Land of the Legally Dead.
Only this time the funeral home guy wasn't a guy, but a young woman I had never seen before.
Out of the 45 or so death certificates I have signed (see Inevitability Index at top), each time it has been a different messenger bringing the papers for me. And most of them are incredibly gracious and polite.
Maybe it's because they like getting out of the funeral home. Or maybe because I might be one of the few people who are NOT freaked out by the fact that they deal with corpses every day. I would most likely even laugh at their darkest jokes (or try not to at least). Maybe they don't have those kind of jokes.
For the deceased Mr. Lust (previous entry), it was this happy old funeral guy who looked in worse shape than the dead man's certificate I was signing today.
But Mr. Gluttony's messenger was far different. Young, short brown hair, and wearing more makeup than most personnel in the hospital (except for the nurses on the Filipino Cabal floor, but they wear it well -- hey, I am all for blue eyeshadow if it's used right).
"Have you spoken to Mr. Gluttony's wife since? She's quite distraught," the young funeral lady said smiling.
I said I would be glad to speak to her. And I went on about how shocking this whole thing was, and how Mr. G. died almost freakishly, and how we finally had some answers for her.
The messenger lady listened intently, smiling with interest, long after I had stopped talking about this man's sudden death.
I signed, said goodbye, and left as she said goodbye as well. Twice.
I exited the lobby quickly.
Some things are weirder than having an attractive woman making googley eyes at you while you discuss the details of a man's sudden and freakish death.
I just don't know what those things could be, though.
"IT'S NOT THE YEARS, HONEY. IT'S THE MILEAGE."
(from Raiders of the Lost Ark)Waiting for an elevator this morning :
MRS. CHESHIRE (a perpetually smiling veteran social worker) : "Heeyyyy! Now those look like the shoes of someone who works really hard."
Yeah, whatevs.
I guess I'll need some new shoes soon. Just thought I'd show my favorite not-Prada Korean zipper shoes before I get some new ones. (Damnit. I should have bought more when I was in Korea.)
DAYDREAMING IN CLASS AGAIN
I went to lay down with Amy at 8:30 last night. When I woke up, it was 4:50 a.m. It was one of the few times I awoke remembering a dream I was having.
This morning I had dreamt that I was the best man at this wedding. And the maid of honor was one of these blonde twins I went to high school with, Danka (the same twins at my high school reunion).
Danka was sitting next to me, happy to see me, just like she was always happy to see anyone for 3-second greetings.
"I don't know who arranged this. Isn't this funny?" she had said while we sat and waited. I noticed it was her twin sister ("the less pretty one" per her classmates then) who was getting married on the program.
I had asked her to prom back in high school. I may have been sore to be rejected then, but not at all since then. I hadn't even thought of her since my reunion so why this dream with her all of a sudden? I had no idea.
I don't know where Amy was, but I remember having my ring on, and noticing that this maid of honor had no wedding ring herself (otherwise she'd be a matron of honor I guess).
Then I woke up. Not much to it.
I'm not into analyzing dream imagery. I feel it's more useful to examine the feelings you felt in your dream, because those are the feelings your subconscious wants to feel or can't quite express while awake in my experience.
The only feeling I could recall was a certain amused excitement at being able to talk to someone whom I had liked (but not really anymore). About the past and present. Shared memories. Embarrassing incidents. What ifs (and thankfully nots). This twin was never the kind of person you could talk to like that, which made the dream even stranger.
I went to prom with a girl you could talk to ... even though I wasn't really interested in her when I had asked.
She had frizzy long blonde hair and was one of those "natural" sort of persons. After I surprised her by asking her to the prom, we went out a few times, just talking, about mundane things. She played some CDs of hers at her house once. We talked about school or something at McDonald's (my big-spender days). I suppose I started to like her more as well.
I had embarrassed myself at the prom with her though (other than the fact that my suit was white and pink -- what the fuck was I thinking?).
While slow dancing on the floor, I think I wanted to dance too close to her. Kind of like a long hug as opposed to a dance. She kind of backed off then. I felt like a creep. Fun over. (That was the last time I'd ever try that again.)
She was nice at the party at her house afterwards, but I still felt like a jerk so I left early.
It doesn't really bother me now, other than make me cringe a bit. But that was a lifetime or two ago, it seems.
Weird. I remember the names and words of people from a dozen years ago, but I can barely remember people I've seen live and die before my eyes in the past twelve days. The days and faces drift by so fast.
And now, when I goof off with Amy and pretend to slow dance with her, she squeezes me in a hug and says,
"This is how we'd dance in public."
Which is the dream?
