Willa's Journal

I was at a job interview for some kind of a customer service job. I didn't really want the job, but I still felt like I should make an effort, so when they asked me what I thought of the job, I said it sounded fascinating, but I didn't really have any experience in customer service. But I said I would probably be good at it, given my personality.

The office was quite impressive, good furniture, wooden bookshelves. The people were all well dressed, although all of the customer service people were sitting at one long conference table. There was someone there I knew (Lisa?) and I thought I'd call her later and ask her what the job was really like.

When the interview was over, I said, "So . . . will you call me, then, when you decide?" and the guy said, "No, you call me," and gave me his business card. His name was John Grimes. I couldn't understand that, and didn't know how long I should wait to call, and felt very confused.

Someone had taken my coat and hung it up, but I couldn't remember who, or where, and asked if he knew where my coat was, and he acted very unfriendly and not interested in helping me, so I just left, and said, "If you find it, please send it to me," and went outside into the snow without a coat.

* * *

Bob and I were going somewhere, but I needed to change my clothes. He drove up to the apartment and was going to park, but I said he could wait, that I would just be a minute.

I hurried up into the apartment and started changing my clothes, then noticed a fishtank that I had completely forgotten about. There were two brightly-colored fish in it, and I couldn't remember the last time I'd fed them. I started looking madly around for fish food, but couldn't find any; I really didn't want to leave without feeding them because I was afraid they would die, but I knew Bob was waiting for me and would be wondering why I was taking so long. I didn't know what to do.

This dream apparently sponsored by Anne Lamott: "It was a nice hotel except that someone had decorated my room with a dying goldfish in a fishbowl. It swam frantically around the bowl, opening and closing its mouth, its eyes bugging out as if it had a grape stuck in its throat. It never stopped circling, gasping, all but clutching at its throat. Sometimes it got trapped in the plastic vines. It was a nightmare. At first I referred to it in numerous telephone calls as "the poor little guy." By dinner the first night, I called him "that fucking fish." I kept hoping it would die, so I could pour it down the toilet. I thought about flushing it, alive. They shoot horses, don't they?"

* * *

I dreamed I heard an alarm go off, but just one little beep. I asked Bob, "What was that?" and he said, "It's my alarm." I said, "But it's the middle of the night, it's not time t o get up yet," and then I heard the beep again.

This time I woke up, and it wasn't the alarm, it was Pyewacket. She was standing on top of Bob's dresser making her scratchly little "Mao," the one that says, "I've jumped and I can't get down." I got out of bed and hauled her off the dresser and dumped her back into bed. My guess is that she wanted some attention.