So being that it is 4:45 am and I’ve been up a few minutes, I’d better write this down before it flutters away.
So my dream just before my alarm went off was this:
I was to deliver a baby, in a hospital, cesarean section, in five minutes.
Those involved, who insisted on my completing the procedure, refused to accept that I was just a waitress/artist and had no formal surgical training.
And then there’s the upside-down shopkeeper hoarding his own sporting goods and the strange other-worldly beings who collected us from adrift on the sea and deposited us into a cave with rather fast-moving snails.
I went to buy peaches but ended up with grapefruit.
And somewhere down the road I discover that I never really liked pickles and that my whole life had been one big pickle-lie.
Bollocks. I’m trying to get ready for work and I can’t find my bloody mascara. (I take my medicine and vitamins and put on my face and eat my breakfast and charge my cell phone and put on my shoes and fix my hair and pretty much anything except activities that include the messier ones in the bathroom or the kitchen at my desk. I do not like toothpaste on my desk.)
Oh bollocks yet again. I forgot I’m training the new server today. I have to be all professional and shit. I hate training people in French Service (Fine dining; not whatever sexual perversions anyone may be conjuring up in their head…) I feel like its service training once-removed.
But, don’t despair. You can get anything you want at Alice’s restaurant.
Voulez-voulez-vous Alice’s restaurant.