It turned out that I owed Brando money and I had previously made a partial payment to Pesci, which wasn't quite acceptable, and there had been some problem with getting a receipt. Brando was going to kill me, and I thought the amount was in the hundreds of thousands, but at the last minute I was able to produce a receipt that Pesci had written on something else. I had a $40,000 debt and had paid $35,000. Whew. Not good, but not going to get me killed.
I bought some time, something Brando was reluctant to offer because I think we both knew he could easily die soon. (It's hard when you're a very small head in a jar.) I went to the refrigerator to see what had put me into so much trouble. There was a jar that I remembered as once holding some peanut butter-ish substance that was tasty. But not as tasty as the £19,999 price tag. I guess the exchange rate with Britain (assuming these were pounds sterling) was about 2:1. I boggled at myself. Why did I string myself up by an enjoyable snack?
I dreamt this yesterday during one of the four naps in four different places that almost made up a concurrent eight hours. When I woke, I was immediately bothered with the interpretation that the dream was a metaphor for the bad foods I eat and the effect they've had on my life/lifestyle.
No fuss, just testing the comments system.
Posted by: Shari | 08 September 2002 at 05:36 AM