Dreaming of Courtney

[I used to dream a lot about Courtney Love - always those kinds of dreams where it takes a long time after waking to sort out the dream world from the real one. Courtney hasn't been visiting me much in my sleep lately, and I can't say I've missed her.]

[The scene: a park on a sunny, cold winter day, in a city I don't recognize. Thinking back, it might have been Portland. Chris, his friend Bree, and I are sitting on a bench waiting for my friend Sean to show up. We're chatting about stuff related to my previous dream (this dream had begun in the last one, if you know what I mean, but I don't remember what the previous one was about), when we see Courtney Love walking purposefully across the park toward a grotty-looking coffee shop across the street. We notice who it is, and I say I want to go over and say hi.]

[We go over and start chatting. Courtney's friendly, remembering that she and I had an email exchange related to her blog several years before. (No, this never happened in real life.) She's dressed in a light, baggy sweater that reaches down to her knees, striped leggings, and I didn't notice her shoes. Pretty grungy, but OK for day. She's accessible, friendly Courtney, not freaked-out, keep-your-switchblade-handy Courtney, and we're relieved.]

[At one point, Chris, Bree, Courtney, and I spot a very fashionably dressed teen heartthrob (who it was wasn't important, though I think he was French) walking across the park with two teenage girls near where the three of us had been sitting. Courtney exclaims, "Oh, my God, it's _____!" and dashes across the street to hang with them. The three of us amble to our bench and watch the beautiful people being beautiful, and Bree remarks that it's like watching some particular exotic animals at a zoo.]

[Then it's night, and Courtney, Chris, Bree, and some 20somethings I don't recognize are standing on the steps of the Carnegie library in the middle of the park (borrowed from Sonoma's, no doubt) as I come back from calling Sean at a nearby phone booth. (The whole dream had a '90s, pre-cell-phone-era feel to it.) Courtney's body language tells me she's about had it with this scene.]

["And I didn't join Red Room," she says contemptuously around the cigarette that's dangling from her cherry-tinted lips.]

[Before I can ask how she knew I worked there, much less when she'd published a book, one of the 20somethings says, "Yeah, she's on Pistachio. I work there."]

["Hmm, my first project at Red Room was researching our competitors, and I don't remember seeing a site called 'Pistachio'," I reply, feeling professionally embarrassed and like a dork in front of Courtney Love.]

["Whatever," says Courtney, stubbing out her cigarette. "This is giving me a migraine. I'm leaving." And she disappears into the night.]

[Chris, Bree, and I go back to the grotty coffee shop, the interior of which has resolved into the All-Star Donuts at Market and Van Ness in San Francisco. I tell Bree that I know this is a dream, that I often dream of Courtney Love, and that we really did exchange email in real life. (No, we really haven't.) I ask her if she thinks I'm having this dream during an afternoon nap, or if it's night.]

["Neither," she answers. "But you're really warm. I'd worry about that instead."]

[I woke up with my space heater blasting in my face. It was morning.]

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