She's Writing a Novel

Last night I had dreams. Terrible dreams. The kind where you spend most of the time trying to speak or scream and nothing comes out but desparate wheezing. The kind where you wake up whimpering because you're still trying to scream at the horror. And it is moments like these when I am ever so glad I decided to become a dishonorable woman and live in sin, because nothing is worse than waking up from these dreams to your own tears in a dark, empty room - it just becomes an epilogue to the nightmare. But, nothing is better than waking up in the arms of the person you cried out to from the mazes of your dreams.

I won't go into the vivid detail of this particular terror-go-round, as it implies I am in dire need of psychotherapy. Suffice to say, the visions of what we can do to others are more horrifying than visions of what they can do to us.

I was able to fall back to sleep after many words of reassurance from the Russian lover, and this time I tumbled into a dream with a much lighter theme - the apocolypse.

The Russian lover and I were standing on a suspension bridge watching some shit go down in the distance. It was apparent that the shit going down heralded the end of civilization as we knew it - at least in this part of the world. While it was a great vantage point from which to observe mushroom clouds, we decided a suspension bridge was probably the worst place to hang out during armageddon. But the end of the world had proven distracting to most of the other motorists, and we found ourselves unable to get anywhere.

So the Russian lover recruited a middle-aged eastern-european man driving a convertable sports car, and we made our escape via an improbably fast and wild ride. None of us wore safety belts.

We arrived in a quiet suburb that was slowly reconciling itself to the fact that the end was nigh. One neighbor was having a small picnic. She had prepared a number of dishes to take to a cast party that evening, but the closing night of her play and the party had been cancelled due to the apocolypse. However, she didn't think that was any reason to waste a perfectly good crab and avacado salad. We stopped and helped ourselves before moving on to find other provisions for survival through the end of days.

Our first looting stop was a shoe store. Because nothing says "I'm prepared for the end of all things" like a great pair of black thigh-high suede boots.