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fried bologna

February 10, 2011

First, let me say that fried bologna is the jam. It’s the poor man’s substitute for a breakfast ham steak, and o! is it delicious, especially drizzled with a little bit of maple syrup. You just throw a couple slices on the frying pan and wait for edges to brown and the middle to curve up; when they’re done it’s like looking at two meat-colored contact lenses. I haven’t had fried bologna in a long time, so when it popped up in my dream last night, I woke up with a hankerin’. Luckily, Pete and I don’t buy bologna, so my arteries live to fight another day.

I’ve gotten back into the swing of note-taking in the morning, and while last night’s dreams were rather dull (though at times pleasant), at least I remembered them!

The first thing I recall is that my friend Kirsten was making pancakes and fried bologna in a log cabin, to celebrate the fact the Rob and I had just walked a couple miles dragging a leaky gas pipe and lived to tell the tale. Rob told me that when he had dragged the pipe with Ryan last year, he’d gotten a bad headache because of the gas. Tiffany, the fiancee to one of Pete’s friends, is also there, and is extremely excited to be trying fried bologna for the first time. Once it’s ready, the bologna is as delicious as you could ever imagine,  fried to perfection in its own processed-meat juices.


Three of my cousins live in Virginia with their mom and dad. I am suddenly in my cousin’s bedroom telling him that his room is like the Bat Cave because it is covered in scary-looking dark posters. He tells me to get over it and look closely at the posters. When I do, I notice that while from far away they look scary, up close they are actually cartoons of Mickey Mouse in bat suits, fighting crime. His sister has the room next door, and I notice she has a piece of art out that I made a long time ago. I can’t stop looking at the thing I made, going on and on about how happy I am that it is still hanging on the wall. It means that they haven’t forgotten about me, after all. The art: in my dream, American Girl dolls come in embroidered linen sacks. I had taken one of these sacks (from my Kirsten doll) and cut out the embroidered image (“Home Sweet Home”). I set it in the back of a shadow box, with a few Barbies in front of it. The frame around the whole thing is pink, and I notice that one of the Barbies is a Whitney doll that I’ve been searching for for years (the exact version I link to, in fact!). My cousin and aunt were at the other end of the room, the cousin showing her mom boys on Facebook. Every time she’d read what one of the boys wrote on her wall, her mom would end it by yelling, “IN PERSON!” For example, she read a wall post from a boy that said, “You look really hot,” and my aunt ended it by yelling, “IN PERSON!” in order to convey her wish that my cousin had actually met these people in real life, as opposed to on the Internet. If the boy couldn’t follow his wall post with “in person,” then he was a nefarious Web creature to be avoided at all costs.


Now I am with Lisa driving away from a hotel room we broke into. While we are driving on the highway, I notice that it has begun to snow a little. The snowflakes are huge–maybe three feet in diameter–and beautiful. They stay suspended in the air, a few feet above the road, just high enough that we don’t hit them while driving. They aren’t static, though, and hover around at different heights. We get forced off the road by a giant dump truck, but luckily for us, there is a secret exit just at that moment, saving us from certain death. We call someone to come pick us up, but nobody understands why we took the secret exit.

One Comment leave one →
  1. Kirsten Whitney permalink
    February 10, 2011 4:23 pm

    I really love that you had a dream about kirsten and whitney dolls! I still have my Kirsten American girl doll with all the clothes and stuff. It was the first thing that actually had my name back when you never heard of it before. Its only to bad she looked nothing like me 🙂

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