Last night I had a dream that Zac Efron called me and told me he was putting on my story as a play. I said I couldn’t remember sending it to him. He said it would need a lot of revisions. Then he came over so I could read for the part of The Waiter. As soon as he got there, my sister writhed all over the floor trying to get his attention. I threatened her so she would leave. Zac Efron referred to a piece of scrap paper that said I was “funny-ish.” Then he gave me the embroidered pillow on which The Waiter’s lines were sewn to read. It was a concrete poem. I told him I couldn’t do it.
I am pretty sure almost all of this swam up in my brain because I’m reading A Streetcar Named Desire.