Listen to the Sound of my Voice

This morning, I was sound asleep and having a strange dream. I was walking into a room where my mother was sitting with a girl I used to know back in high school. In the dream, they were talking, but stopped when I came into the room.

“Oh, Apricot,” my mom said. “Would you like to paint High School Acquaintance’s shirt for her?”

“Oh, no,” I shook my head, “No, actually--”

They exploded into fury about how I was calling this girl fat, and how that was unacceptable, when really, all I wanted to do was talk to my mom for a moment. I hung my head, looked at the carpet, and thought, ‘Gee, self, this is just like what happened at the LARP convention.’

Just then, my mom in the waking world knocked on my bedroom door and said, “Apricot? Don’t you have to be up?”

“Whutimeissit?”

“It’s a quarter to seven.”

“No, I don’t have to be up until eight.”

“Oh, sorry.”

“Thanks.”

The part that makes this Twilight-Zone-ish is that last night, when I stood up to go to bed (before anyone else) I said, to my mom, “Now, I don’t have to be up until eight tomorrow.”

She said, “Oh, that’s so nice.”

I don’t blame my mom for not remembering, and it’s great of her to come try to wake me up when she had thought I overslept (I’ve done it once or twice before) but I do think it’s funny that I would be dreaming about people not listening to me when she came up to wake me up because she didn’t remember some trivial thing I had said.