dreams: September 13, 1998

Mom is too American

I'm up at Mom's house. I go into the kitchen, looking for some vanilla ice cream. I open the freezer and don't see any. I open the fridge and cupboards ; I'm kind of disgusted by all the "fake" food -- Diet Pepsi, Lean Cuisines, microwaveable popcorn, etc. On the top shelf of the cupboard I see a red, tin, round cookie box with the same labeling as Ritz crackers and the raisin lady with the red bonnet. I open up the box and see tiny delicate white cookes in different shapes, divided by white little muffin cup papers. I know Mom bouught them to serve to company (i.e. Patty, her only friend), to eat with tea or something. I grab a few and eat them. Mom walks in. She says something to me (about a "bookbag"?), but I can't hear what she says. I ask her to repeat herself. "What?" she asks sharply. I tell her I didn't hear what she said. "I don't know," she says, again sharply. Finally I get her to repeat it. She asks if I saw that she "filled the kitchen with good food." I tell her no, pointing out that it's all garbage, and that I prefer real food.
I go outside to the front driveway. It's filled with two trucks attached to motorboats on trailers. I think to myself how Mom is so "over-American" in her lifestlye, living for materialism and empty manufactured things. I can't stand it.
I really want vanilla ice cream, so I just make it happen. Suddenly I'm eating it out of a cup -- spoonfuls of cold white ice cream. I sit in the middle of the road, looking down Beach Street. I wonder what would happen if I pushed one of the boats down the hill, unhooking it from the truck?
I see lots of potluck parties and baseball game happening down the street.
Then I'm mad at Phoebe for using my things without asking. I tell her and she's disrespectful. I tell her to buy some new tampons for me since she used up all of mine.

- FIN -

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