Dream date: November, 2028
Dream: I’ve followed Elle into Zara. She’s laughing, and salespeople fawn at the slightest toss of her long, silky blonde hair. She tries on a big, floppy hat—just like the hat I wore on the cover of Teen Vogue that one time—and she makes that pouty, doe-eyed face she made in Super 8, the same face she made in Somewhere. I wrap myself inside the rack of kimono robes and peer at her with eyes I once used to convey intense emotional pain befitting my award-nominated role as an abused trailer child in Hounddog. Elle sorts through rack after rack of pale, chiffony blouses and lifts one particularly translucent one up to the light. The hanger uncurls itself into a giant metal snake and twists its boa cords around Elle’s untalented neck.
Analysis: I’m just so happy for everything my sister’s been able to accomplish in such a short career. I’ve had so many years to deepen my skill-set, so it’s miraculous—and really just a delight—that Elle has been able to achieve so much in such a relatively brief period of time. I’m beyond proud of her, just as any sister would be.
Dream date: Yesterday
Dream: Diane is there and she has a question she keeps asking me. But Scarlett and Penelope are mud wrestling. Diane follows me into the wrestling parlor, still asking that question. Scarlett grabs Penelope by the hair, and Penelope’s face is smushed deep into the mud and Scarlett asks, “Like this, Woody?” But Diane won’t stop with that question. That question has chased me into this other room. She grabs me by the shoulder: “Is Mira coming for tea?” I turn around abruptly. “Who’s Mia?” I say.
Analysis: Lucia, my intern, tells me that the reviews are very good for this newest picture. Cate Blanchett just texted me a smiley face. Lucia tells me that it is actually pronounced “emoe-gee.”
Dream date: 32 DAYS TO SEPTEMBER ISSUE
Dream: I dreamed I was a salad, one of those big kind of horrible ones with dressing. Croutons crunching. Wontons wilting. Oil and vinegar oozing down the side, I think? Grace was wanting to eat me. I kind of liked it.
Analysis: Fire the salad girl.
Previously: Volume I
Photo via cwagsphoto/flickr.