::Band-Aid Traps and Paper Clouds::

Work

I got an interview from the library. No cigar. Not that I desperately wanted that job, no. I want to sell my soul and miserate the rest of my summer at Western Watts. Good thing I was blessed with work last year, but if I don’t find work at school, or if Western Watts don’t want me… I might not be too far from the gutters in front of your house one of these coming days.

A couple weeks ago at work, I was making boxes when I noticed a pink smear of ink on one of the packages. I was like, “Hm, haven’t seen that before,” so I keep working, and the next two have similar pink smears, and I think, “Oh, that’s really weird. They don’t usually have this many mistakes…” and then I noticed the source of the pink smears: blood from my finger. Uh-oh. That’s a no-no in any sanitary business.

I got to one of the Hispanic managers (not the one who wants me to marry her son) and I show her my bloody finger, and after some passing-the-job-to-someone-else-nonsense, they get me a weird Band-Aid. I put the Band-Aid on, but I notice… this is a rather strange Band-Aid. What idiot made plastic sharp straps with a green greed on it? The Band-Aid is precarious, and very annoying, but I forbear.

Later, during one of our breaks, I realize how stupid I am: the sharp, stabbing plastic part of the Band-Aid can be peeled off—the real straps are soft and see-through—good job, Band-Aid company. You certainly made them child proof... or perhaps... just fool-proof?

The lady took my pink-decorated boxes and told me she’d clean ‘em. That’s professional, ain’t it? Good thing I don’t have any diseases that I know about…

Dream #6—Paper Cloud: James and I are talking outside on our downstairs patio. A ginormous black and gray raincloud is coming towards us fast. It’s thick and it looks kindof papery—not as transparent as clouds should be, but like how you imagine they would be. For example, this cloud was a lot like the ones in the Peter Pan with real people, only black instead of pink. The cloud is spraying rain at us. We’re both ecstatic, but then I notice the danger of it—there’s lightning in the cloud! I tell James to get away, but he’s still talking about something and he’s not listening and doesn’t seem to be concerned that he’s about to be electrified. I was up abruptly saying loudly: “MOVE!”

Dream #6 Analysis: Brothers never listen. Boys are stupids.