The Girl Who Lost Her Face

2/22/10

I was running late for work, trying to get dressed and make breakfast. I made a sandwich and had to round up clean clothes. And at the last minute I went to the LOC or a museum instead. It was great playing hooky. There was a boy with Down's syndrome there who was being insulted by some guy. Someone--not sure if it was me?--defends the child.

Tim is there. We gloat over missing work and look at art in the small blond wood building.

I read a magazine with a feature about celebrities recognizing themselves sleeping. There's a mongolian actress named Minnow and I can read her name in Mandarin.

I see a movie of the Beatles dancing. They're wearing hats made of thatched flowers and weeds.

There's a cult leader visiting a compound while his acolytes are trying to bake. For some reason they'll be in big trouble if they're caught in the act of baking. We throw flour and mixing bowls into cabinets and the oven at top speed. I think they're idiots.

I walk down a sidewalk in a sort of art fair with a big gruff looking but handsome man. We talk about a folk tale called "The Girl Who Lost Her Face". I feel very clever. I think I have a crush on the guy.

I'm at one of the booths at the fair. The boss guy in a watch cap won't let his girl assistant go to the bathroom. I offer to take over while she takes a break. The boss is smug and obnoxious. I finally call him a twerp, assuring him that I know the real meaning of the word.

I'm with a female friend who I don't recognize. We're playing out a scene I know has already happened. She was mauled by a mountain lion. We each have a beautiful cage-like bed, with a metal grille. We have the implements to lock them, fat, clumsy ornamented locks that slip over the open prongs of the grille. I'm having trouble weaving the metal together and I know hers is worse. We're running out of time and I urge her to get into my bed but she won't.