This is the week for iffy sleep patterns and strange dreams. As far as I know, absolutely everyone in town has had trouble sleeping–heat, humidity, thunder that would wake the dead–and the general feeling has been described as “hung-over, but you haven’t been drinking.” So, attack of the poorly modified Kreb’s Cycle.
Time for tea, in other words.
I woke up just after a really bizarre dream, in which a Bestselling Author was giving a lecture that would have been more suited to a college professor, and wound up getting ripped for calling Tiberians Tiberians. Now, never mind the fact that Tiberius went around naming just about everything after himself, so exactly which Tiberians, and where was up in the air… (There’s a snazzy tourist resort in Israel, and that’s probably what a modern human being would mean. I’m not sure I count as a modern human being.) Well, we just don’t call them Tiberians, anymore.
Oh, good. I have Second-Temple political correctness going on. In my head.
You would think dreams about a time period in which people believed that female orgasm was necessary to conception might possibly be more interesting… but uhm… no. The appropriate Second Temple dream would be debating what to call Tiberians.
So, then, Author moved on to showing off wardrobe pieces for The Handmaid’s Tale. (Which he did not write.)
That means a chartreuse dress (roughly in his size) with truly enormous white ruffles that somehow, miraculously, folded up into little book-shaped ornaments that dangled off the dress at random intervals. I think there was a button. Ruffles. Books. Ruffles. Books.
Well, that’s definitely a “different” take on the Handmaid’s Tale.