A Very Typical Problem of Adult Life

DREAM JOURNAL, week of July 14

July 11: I dreamt I was sitting in a Bennigan's while in the booth behind me two lesbians were loudly discussing who was truly the best rebounder in the WNBA. The conversation went on and on. I remember every detail. Just when I thought they were moving on to a new topic, they started in again. I would say their discussion of the WNBA's best rebounder went on for approximately thirty to forty minutes.

July 12: Dreamt of the lesbians at Bennigan's again. They were discussing the same thing, only this time, the conversation took a slight twist when one of the lesbians began to compare the best WNBA rebounders with women of similar skill in the college ranks. At some point I seem to remember eating ribs as the lesbians in the booth behind me talked about rebounding. I would estimate that their discussion lasted somewhere in the neighborhood of forty-five to fifty minutes.

July 13: The lesbian dream again. Still at Bennigan's. This time the conversation became heated when Lesbian #1 refused to accept the fact that rebounding and defense were somehow more important collectively than perimeter scoring and the transition game. I ate quietly in my booth as they spoke. Eventually their conversation came slowly back to who was the best rebounder. There seemed to be an agreement on the identity of this rebounder, but the runners-up in their evaluation differed. I gauge their debate to have gone on for about one full hour.

July 14: For the fourth straight night, I dreamt of lesbians at Bennigan's discussing who was the WNBA's best rebounder. This time, though, the first and second halves of the debate were interspersed with a seventy-five minute conversation on the topic of where the next meeting of their Pinochle group would be held. Lesbian #1 believed the meeting should be held at a house belonging to someone named Janet (who was possibly also a Bennigan's-frequenting lesbian, though I cannot be sure), while Lesbian #2 favored Bennigan's itself. In the dream I also ordered a milkshake which never actually came.

July 15: Rigged up a primitive device which will severely scald my flesh with boiling hot steam if I ever fall asleep again, even for the briefest of moments. The device has already worked twice to perfection. I have entered into a state of crazed yet transcendent wakefulness. I see spots and shimmering lines on the walls, sometimes even frightening shapes and faces, and I cannot think clearly for more than sixty seconds at a time, yet the device will remain set in its locked and fully coiled position. It is good and valuable. There can be no sleep. None. None.