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she· verb
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03.14.03 Hello internet! Do you remember me? I had this dream last night about Joaquin Phoenix and a cigarette sandwich, so of course, I decided to make a whole new website just for you. (No. It had nothing at all to do with me being flaky--like one minute deciding to go live in an earthship in New Mexico and in the next minute deciding to enroll at the U of FL to become an environmental scientist and in the third minute scrapping all plans and just moping about the house in my pajamas, drinking beer and listening to Barber's Adagio for Strings over and over again. No! All of this new web action is only for you. All for you!) So...in this dream that made me miss you dreadfully, I was looking through a box of records that Joaquin made with some band. Much of the cover art was of the 1970's self-indulgent-my-girlfriend-took-an-art-class variety, and as I wondered why they were releasing records rather than CDs, who should make an appearance but Joaquin, himself! I sort of half knew I was dreaming and probably conjured him up, but I felt oddly flattered nevertheless. There was one problem, however. While he was cute as a button and taller than I imagined him to be, he couldn't answer any of my questions because he had forty or fifty cigarettes jammed into his mouth. And I mean jammed in there. His head sort of looked like a cartoon with a neatly stacked rectangle of cigarettes coming straight out. It was a disturbing sight and the dream suddenly shifted to a meeting at work where I was trying to convince the vice presidents of something terribly important, but my brother was sitting next to me, whispering into my ear all the names of every failed romantic relationship I'd ever had. "Mark W-----, Harry S-----, Charles R-----, Jim B----. How does that make you feel, Gracie? How does that make you feel?" It made me feel distracted and miserable, thanks. The dream shifted again and there were further episodes where I enjoyed the sensations of inadequacy and deep shame when I suddenly realized Joaquin was back, but he had been in a terrible accident. I could see him from the back and his entire head was wrapped in white gauze. Immediately, my concerns seemed insignificant, even childish compared to what Joaquin must have gone though. I approached him to tell him how sorry I was when he turned around. He still had the cigarette sandwich in his mouth, but now the top and bottom rows were stained red. Somewhere amidst the synapses and neurons of my brain, the command "Awaken Immediately" was sent and I received it loud and clear with a pounding heart and a catch in my throat. Subsequently, I've enjoyed the vision of Joaquin's bandaged head and bloodied mouth for the rest of the day. You missed me too, right?
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