I had a dream about Neil Gaiman last night.
It’s very specifically because right before I went to sleep, my partner decided to call me “The Rattle Bag”— as in Neil’s scary story “Click Clack the Rattle Bag” that we actually saw him read at NYPL years ago— from now on because I have a click-y jaw and wrists and he’s got some slight misophonia-esque issues so it drives him nuts.
… but why the RATTLE BAG part?! Could I not at least be the Click-Clack?? I’m fine with being a scary monster rather than A BAG OF BONES RATTLING IN THE WIND.
*sigh of exasperation*
I told my partner I was going to come on here and complain about it and maybe Neil would come across it and be like, “If you make fun of your partner for her clicky joint problems that cannot be helped and are definitely not a personal attack on your auditory system, I’m going to have all of my scariest characters visit you in the night like the most terrifying version of ‘A Christmas Carol’ possible.”
(To be clear, I don’t actually expect that, I just thought it was a pretty good threat because *whispers* Neil is everywheeeeeeeeere.)
Anyway. The dream.
Which, after all that build up, isn’t really that interesting now that I think about it. Oh well.
I was attending a reading of his (it looked like it was in an ENORMOUS bookstore rather than a theater) and I had only been able to get a seat in the very back. But then the reading started and the majority of the seats were still empty (I know, very unrealistic) so I was like fuck it and moved up to one of the empty seats in the first few rows.
And EVERYONE STARED AT ME. Including Neil.
Nightmare territory for me, because I never want anyone to look at me ever in their lives. Do not perceive me, please and thank you.
So I was all like, “Um, if people show up, I’ll go back to my seat, promise!” but everyone was like “THAT IS NOT YOUR SEAT HOW DARE YOU” and I was so embarrassed I slunk all the way back to my original seat where no one else was sitting anymore and Neil turned off his microphone as a punishment so I couldn’t even hear him.
So I decided to leave, but as my foot hit the pavement of the parking lot, it turned into this black sludge that I fell into. I wasn’t drowning or anything, my feet touched the bottom, but it felt DISGUSTING. And then Hexxus from the movie Fern Gully appeared and started singing “Toxic Love” and I remember thinking, “I’m bummed about Neil Gaiman, but HOW COOL IS THIS?!”
… which makes me think it was some kind of subconscious warning for not caring enough about the environment? Or something?
(I do care about the environment, I promise! I totally believe in climate change! It was 90° in mid-April in New England and it was terrible!)
The point here is that calling your partner a bag of bones results in vaguely traumatizing dreams that, in turn, cause internal conflict about current global issues, so you shouldn’t do it.
And don’t take seats from people who didn’t show up to a Neil Gaiman reading, I guess?
