A very long and rambling thought about short-term memory loss: Or, as I also like to call it . . . Saturday.

Don’t you hate it when you’re standing in line at the grocery store having a conversation with your son about Bai water, or something else for sale at the checkout, and you think of something clever and funny, like melding two words together into a new one, and it’s so good you have to pull out your phone to make a note of it, but it’s time to pay so you have to put your phone away, and then when you get home you remember that you had this really clever thought but you can’t remember what it was, so you ask your son, “Hey, do you remember that really clever word I came up with in line at the grocery store?” and he responds “You didn’t say a clever word at the grocery store,” so I rephrase it: “Do you remember something funny I said while in line at the grocery store?” and he responds “No, you didn’t say anything funny either. Can I have dinner now?” and you still can’t remember it but you know you will at some point if you just start writing, and it turns into this ridiculously long sentence on your blog that you haven’t touched in months, but you STILL can’t remember it?

I sure do.

P.S. I’ll remember at 3:38 tomorrow morning, I guarantee. Please feel free to check back then. I just know it’s going to blow your socks off.

Dreamscapes: The Whole Foods Mall of Japaris

Feel free to make what you will out of THIS crazy dream!

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I was in a huge, cavernous shopping mall of some type with some of my friends (I couldn’t tell which ones). I didn’t know exactly where the mall is, but somehow it was a cross between Japan and Paris.

The mall was an odd shape, with a narrow stairwell (it reminded me of being in Notre Dame, with the steep concrete stairs and little windows looking out on the world) that would wind its way up to the next floor. Along each stairwell there were open buckets of all kinds of goodies—candy, toys, small fun items (like the bulk section of Whole Foods), and I understood that you were supposed to take what you wanted and bring it to the nearest register. But it was so tempting to just take a few small things and stick them in your coat pocket. I didn’t . . . at least not yet.

Even though it was indoors, everyone was wearing coats. It was so tight in that stairwell, people were jammed together in two lines, like going up the escalator from the train to the main floor in Penn Station. When you reached each floor, the space was wide open and there were vendors everywhere. No actual stores, just people at kiosks or just standing there selling their wares. It reminded me of the artists lined up along the streets and bridges in Paris.

Each main floor of the mall was so huge, it echoed. At each floor there was some kind of performance, and the point of each performance seemed to be to scare people into thinking they were going to run into you. One group of performers was dressed up like huge robots or transformers, all in black and on stilts. They were terrifying.

At the next stairwell, I couldn’t help myself and I took a handful of Swedish Fish, but for some reason each one was on a stick. Swedish Fish Skewers. I kept trying to get them in my pocket, but the stick was in the way and the crowd kept shoving me. I dropped two, and held onto one, hoping there were no hidden cameras.

At the next open level, one of my friends wanted to go look at something and I tried to follow her but instead I went looking for a trash can to throw away the Swedish Fish so I wouldn’t get in trouble. A group of performers on bicycles appeared, careening all around me, and one came to a skidding halt right in front of me.

I ran, but realized that I dropped the Swedish Fish. I looked back and saw it on the floor, and for some reason I was so sad, but I kept running.

And that was it.