Book of Dreams

The nanotechology people hold an advanced technology conference. I hold a sign that says, “Will robots need management.” The r-o-b-o-t-s on the sign is written in Scrabble letter font. Because, of this sign, I am allowed into an exclusive event. The president of the United States is answering questions, and points to me. I ask,”Will rabbits need management?” There is laughter, though I suppose the second question is as good as the first, since nano- and bio- technologies are converging. I wake up to a song on the radio, about cryonics, the freezing of people.

I am in a classroom. Monica is sitting two rows in front, next to Chico Marx. I want to join her, but she is busy talking to Chico. Monica tells me to stay seated where I am. Members of the El Cerrito Writers Group console me.

I am in a meeting which has been called by the manager who was in charge of the manufacturing plant where I worked twenty years ago. He is asking for suggestions. When it comes to my turn, I say that the paging system is distracting. When it comes to Mike’s turn, he says that there should be more discussion, and more listening to suggestions. As we leave the meeting, I tell Mike that I liked his answer better than mine. Later, a well-connected, slick corporate type arranges an important meeting for me at 7 p.m., which is the same time as an important monorail ride. The fast talker gets on the 5 p.m. train with his 7 p.m. ticket, leaving Mike and I behind.

I dream that the reason that my mother always seemed so young is that she lied about her age. Instead of being age 24 when I was born, she was actually twelve. (Won’t her sisters be surprised!)