This morning I had a dream that involved a conversation about guns and an attempt to do some grocery shopping at a Trader Joe’s-type store where spaghetti was $11 for a 3-pound package. I remember trying to figure out if that was an expensive-but-acceptable price, or a just-plain-expensive price.
In the dream I was scrawny, maybe 19, still in my underage club kid phase, but I was also somehow me, now, as one sometimes is in dreams.
I have no idea what, if anything, that dream was trying to tell me (mostly, I suspect it was a dream about feeling unprepared), but I’ll tell dream-me this: $11 is way too much for 3 pounds of store-brand spaghetti.
This week I’m prepping for PlayThink in the morning and rehearsing for a show in the afternoon. Monday we began creating things; today we run through the show; tomorrow we do tech; Sunday we have a dress rehearsal in the morning and the show in the evening. It’s a gala for a new botanical garden.
Tiny stage, so I’m glad we get to rehearse onstage before the show.
When I get back from PlayThink, June will be halfway over.