Monday, November 25, 2002

The Hairdresser, the Zombies and the Talking Squirrel

Okay, so this dream was *unusual* even for me.
I was at house I used to live in. It had a chain link fence around the backyard, and I was doing gardening work beside it. A friend of mine who teaches pilates was next door gardening on the far side of her yard, along with Angus, her bald, gay, Scottish hairdresser. He says hello, and I pretend not to hear hoping he won't come over. He does, though.
He comments on the up-keep of the front yard. I demure, telling him it's all the work of the zombies I control. I try to call them over, but they've all gone away.
There's a buzzy little voice in one of the old pin oak trees that explains that to us. I tell Angus that is my talking squirrel, who has no name, but whom I'm thinking of calling Cindy.

Rather thankfully, this is the time when I woke up.
I'm scared to know what it means.

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