There was a little girl. A cartoon girl. She was eating something or waiting for something. Behind her was a building and I could see a grate that led to a duct or something. The girl, thinking her friends were in there, moved the grate aside and crawled into the duct. The duct was actually where all the kitchen grease went after it was thrown down the drain. It was slick and the girl couldn't turn around. She fell and fell and fell. There was nothing to stop the fall. She fell until she hit water. But she was too big to turn around in the duct, and couldn't grab the wall to pull her self out. She was trapped. I watched her drown. From under the water. I saw her face as the air finally left her body.
This was really just a very small portion of the dream. It another part Annie Leibovitz was trying to rearrange my office. But that part doesn't feel important, and it's not impenetrable. I've been very involved in my own hobby of photography recently, I really only buy Vanity Fair to see what Annie's done next and I saw her on American Masters last night. And I've rearranged my own office and I like it the way it is. So, again. Not impenetrable.
But that little girl. That little cartoon girl. And she was a cartoon. Rendered with hairline, fragile markings and dull quiet colors that barely registered. Innocence on her face. Brown hair that blew in the wind. Fat, round legs and little white shoes.
What does it mean? Where is my mind when it does not seem to be mine?