My daughter offered an explanation. “Maybe because our days are so alike right now, our imaginations are on overdrive.”
We are sheltering-in-place during a pandemic. Days run into one another, separated only by disco ball rope swings and cafés filled with handsome flight attendants and chocolate chip wallpaper.
Baz Lehrman is hopping from bed to bed, wreaking havoc in the form of vivid hallucinations. Two nights ago, I was on a double-decker bus that turned into a cupcake float. People were singing about a cat conference (the song was called “Kitty Con”). And then I woke up, pulled on the same pair of jeans, did some work, and made yet another banana bread.
My friend, I don’t want to do a distance walk with you. Instead, let’s meet in a dream. Tonight, I choose an island with rocky cliffs and a crowded restaurant that smells like French onion soup. You will bring your dog and I will bring a friendly python wearing a tiny rainbow hat. You will say something so hilarious that all the other patrons fly over to our table and sprinkle actual snow on our heads. When I reach up to touch my hair, I will cheerfully discover that I can painlessly pluck an idea from my scalp, as one might pluck a dandelion. I will hand you one of my ideas and then you will pluck one of your own and offer it to me. Our eyes will sparkle with mischief as we hold onto each other’s thoughts.
See you soon.