I don't think that's the way you want to go.
I had a dream last night that began with me on a crowded #6 train trying to push my way through the old man in front of me to get off at the Bleecker Street stop. When I exited the train I tried to remember which stairwell would lead me to where I needed to go. I have no sense of direction. There were two stairwells and I took the one on the left. When I came out on the street it was snowing. I walked down one block but didn't recognize anything. I turned around and went back down the stairs at the Bleecker Street entrance. I took the stairs on the right this time, which were under construction. When I came out on the street this time I kept walking. This time, it was summer.
I took a wrong turn and ended up in what looked like the Hamptons. Every road lead to "The Bay." I didn't know what The Bay was, but it wasn't where I thought I was going. I looked at some open beach houses with a man who I called Dad, though he most certainly was not my father.
"I'll go this way," I told him. "And I'll meet you there."
"Okay," he said. "But I don't think that's the way you want to go."
I walked through an outdoor shopping mall with a path like the white winding ramps at The Guggenheim. I looked down at my black boots, contemplating whether or not my stockings matched my shirt-dress.
In real life, my horoscope for this week suggested, "If you can't convince them, confuse them."
How'd I do?
