De Plane!

I could be at a bar right now; at a quaint little spot over on Valencia street, in the Mission. There's a show I wanted to go to with James, but I'm too tired now. Doors are at nine so she probably won't go on til closer to ten. We saw her once, on a rainy night at a venue not too far from where she's playing tonight, and she was spectacular. She happened to be outside smoking a cigarette as we were leaving and I complimented her on her performance. There was a certain kind of energy about her, something raw and authentic, which was apparent to anyone who had a decent set of eyes. James and I both wanted to keep the conversation alive, just to be near her, but it seemed rude to intrude on the rather animated conversation she was having with the greasy haired man by the door. Surely he was trying to court her; I mean, who wouldn't? But to avoid an accidental cock block, we continued our trajectory down the street, trying to stay out of the rain while also hailing a cab.

Last night I had weird, puzzling dreams which, in retrospect, probably contributed to my current sense of fatigue. In one of them I had boarded a small luxury jet bound for New York. Once I entered the plane I found myself inside an enormous space which looked like a cross between a resort and a city block. Parked cars littered the streets, there was a full bar and a casino, even buildings. The ceilings were as high as stratospheres. The thing I love most about dreams is how willing we are to believe them. A mere moment's reflection would have revealed the glaring impossibility of such a space, but instead of questioning the plane's flagrant dismissal of each and every law of physics, I wondered why I was aboard such an elite jet. I felt naked and out of place; a social class stowaway. As soon as I realized there wasn't a reason for me to be en route to New York on such an opulent jet, I decided to leave. I scrambled toward the door to exit before takeoff and I ran into a confused Charlotte. Where are you going, she asked sadly, you are not coming wiz me to New York? I explained that I couldn't, that I was sorry but I had to work in the morning. There was a train I needed to catch which would get me back to San Francisco, but I missed it by a matter of seconds and found myself stranded between a departing train and an embarking plane. I must've forgotten to set my watch.

In what time zone do dreams take place? I'm not sure but I think I'm jet lagged from sleeping.