I was at a resort. There was a building we all passed through to get to the beach. Barack Obama was there greeting the guests of the resort as we came in. He walked with me a few steps and made sure I had towels and a drink before going out on the beach. I relaxed for a while, then decided to shower there. I returned to the building where a friendly and helpful Barack showed me to an empty shower. I showered. Feeling relaxed and refreshed, I exited the stall and attempted to hang my used towel on a hook outside the door. Barack became serious all of a sudden and told me not to hang up the towel. He said that I had to fold the towel longways in thirds, then roll it jellyroll style. He showed me a basket where I had to place the jellyrolled towel, flat side down. I was no longer relaxed when I looked at the basket with one layer of towels, folded and rolled as he had instructed.
30 March 2008
29 March 2008
Barack and a girl friend of mine and I are sitting, talking about politics. Barack says something and I smell alcohol on his breath and I think it's weird that he has alcohol breath. Then I remember we just had a party. He turns away and on the back of his head there are two nails, one higher than the other. I get really upset and say, I know they got him bugged.
He gets up to go brush his teeth from the alcohol breath and I proceed to talk to my girl friend about a secret government that is conspiring and following him. He comes rushing into the room and says he wants to know all about it, and I am shocked he could hear me from the bathroom.
Barack Obama and I were in my bed, having sex; he was on top. Everything was going really well until we saw Michelle in the next room. Even though she couldn't see us, Barack started to get worried and lose his erection. I told him that I was on the birth control pill so there was nothing to worry about; I wouldn't get pregnant and Michelle wouldn't find out. That made him feel better and he got hard again.
27 March 2008
I had a dream it was snowing a lot. I went across the street to do laundry, then next door to get a drink where I met my boyfriend. Obama was in there giving a speech. It wasn’t so bad. It was just like he was talking to everyone privately at a table with strong soft words. It didn’t feel like he was hogging the mic. Obama asked us to take him back to where we were living. We took him to two places that became one: the apartment where we lived, that was dark and cold and poor, and the house down the street some kids we knew lived in whose parents had died. It was beautiful and rich. Sheila and Lauren and someone else were sharing a bed in a cold dark room where the windows were broken. Obama was sitting on the edge of the bed reading a rainbow card I had made myself to not feel so sad. He read it out loud, quietly – he said it was dumb and magical. I was in the hallway, I nodded.
I woke up in the rich house in a huge soft bed with clean sheets and cream carpeting. The windows were broken and all the snow was coming in.
[The Hillary dream...]
26 March 2008
There was a shootout in my home. It was like the wild west, with the women upstairs hiding and the men downstairs shooting. I don't know who was fighting whom, or why. Barack Obama was there. He sat next to me on the couch but sat on my glasses so I could not see.
I am standing in the front row of a large, packed arena. The crowded is going crazy in anticipation for Barack to come out, the atmosphere more rock concert than political rally. Barack finally emerges, only he has long, bright green dreadlocks and he's bouncing around on stage in jeans and a white t-shirt, getting the crowd fired up. He passes up the podium and goes straight to the crowd, ripping his t-shirt off along the way, and gives everyone in the crowd a high-five. The crowd is loving it, but I find myself filled with anxiety, thinking, Wow, I'm glad he has finally found his confidence, but I think this is taking it a bit too far.
In a bright, white room Barack Obama and Osama Bin Laden were fighting. Obama had Bin Laden pinned, when Bin Laden reached up and tried to break Obama's jaw. Obama seized the opportunity to bite two of Bin Laden's fingers off, the middle and ring finger.
Then Obama was in a suit giving a speech and he was in the White House as president. (I assume that the feat was so incredible there was no need for an election, or maybe he was already president.) Each time he would say the part of the speech that garnered applause, he would show the two fingers, which he held up with a small tissue.
Some people and I followed Obama into Lake Michigan. My terror of deep water came to me but then I suddenly knew that I would be able swim in this soft water and stay on the surface and not drown or be afraid.
We swam and swam and then came around a curving shore towards a downtown Chicago harbor where there was a cheering crowd waiting to see him.
But his two baby sons had been playing in the water and were missing. I swam out farther into the lake and found them clinging to some branches. They were cold and barely alive -- just very tiny babies. Just then Obama swam up and he saw that I had found them. He took one and I took the other and we swam them back to shore to where his wife was waiting. One of the babies smiled at me and said my name.
25 March 2008
I'm in Washington, walking past some shallow, marble steps. Barack is sitting there, resting his elbows on his knees and reading from a small book. The book looks just like my journal. I started to panic. Is Barack Obama reading my diary?
Then I realize that I am holding my diary, so he must have one of his own. I think how cool it is that we have the same book in which to record our experiences, even though our lives are so different.
Hey, we have the same book! I call out, and hold up my diary. Barack looks over and smiles warmly but distantly, as though he is pleased by our little connection but is still deep in thought. I turn and walk on, enjoying the spring weather and glad that I was brave enough to speak to him.
I am in a large room with some high-school friends, taking a test Barack has designed. Competition is steep and I am really emotionally invested in doing well. After the test is over, we all sit on the tables and wait for the scores.
Mine comes out in the “weak” category.
Barack starts walking up and down the aisles, acknowledging the people who have scored in the top category. Everyone else becomes an "untouchable" to him. It is like we didn't exist and are of no importance at all. I feel absolutely horrible.
24 March 2008
I am at a nice, big cabin in the mountains of Colorado with some close friends and family, when an unplanned guest shows up. It is Barack Obama. He is so weak he can barely walk.
Some men are helping him into the house. I get close and see that he is crying. I say, It's ok, it's just tears of milk. White tears are streaming down the left side of his face.
The men begin helping him down a wooden deck toward the master bedroom, when Barack slumps down and something comes out from him: it is a big white snowball, followed by a large snow cube carved in an ornate way.
Then the men help him up and he goes into the bedroom to lie down.
My dad and I happen upon a church where Barack is speaking. Entering, I feel a strong sense of being different from the mostly black congregation.
Barack stands at the pulpit, but he is old and pale with a receding, red afro. I am surprised that he is so much less attractive than in my mind.
I know the religious right in the congregation are plotting his downfall. Then something odd falls from his person. It is a round object that resembles a child’s rubbery, flashing Spike Ball.
I know that in the ball lies the success of Barack's campaign. Only one other person sees it fall, and in her eyes I can tell that she also knows of its power.
The average-looking woman and I tussle for the ball and when I come up victorious, I notice a change in the congregation. About half of the African-Americans are now white.
I hand the ball to Michelle, who doesn't thank me. I exit the church and shrug my shoulders at the woman I scuffled with and say, Sorry.
I am with my stepfather's family and they are making me crazy! I get so angry and frustrated that I fall on the floor and start throwing a temper tantrum. My husband arrives and sees me. Without saying anything, he turns on some reggaeton music, which he knows I can’t resist.
I get up and start dancing. We dance and dance and I think, I'm so lucky to be married to somebody who knows exactly what I need! Then I realize, That's not my husband -- that's Barack Obama!
23 March 2008
I met Barack in the West Village while he was campaigning. We made out all over the city and he was a very good kisser. His campaign staff, who were totally unphased by this, prevented Michelle and the media from finding out. Turns out Obama was quite the ladies' man. Everywhere we went, women flirted with him openly and thanked him for past good times. I was so thrilled to be with him, I didn't even feel jealous, just lucky to have had him for a day and possibly as president in the near future.
22 March 2008
I was shopping for counterfeit handbags on a busy street in Chinatown with some of my friends. A number of the vendors had radios tuned to the same station, which was playing a modern jazz song. When the song ended, the DJ said, Now it's time for Barack Obama, live from Hawaii!.
Barack's voice came on, and said, My fellow citizens, this has been a long, hard campaign, and I am very tired. It's a rocky path I must travel and I just don't know if I can make it.
Then he sang Ole Man River and the entire street fell silent. For the duration of the song, everyone just stood and listened.
I am on a cruise with Barack somewhere in the Pacific. My job is to give him advice on campaign strategies. Barack is wearing a brightly-colored hibiscus-printed sarong. He looks so thin and concerned and vulnerable. As my maternal feelings well up, he begins to look more like my boy. I counsel him to take care of himself and to just continue to be himself. I tells him he is wonderful and that I am so proud of him.
I would have liked to have been able to feed him and comfort him, but I held myself back from embracing him in my arms.
I was standing on the sidelines of a baseball game, when I began to speak to one of the outfielders about why I support Obama. Eventually, a large crowd gathered about, listening and cheering as I elaborated on how Bush's war in Iraq and the massive deficit were impeding American progress. I was neither stammering nor hesitating as I spoke. Talking about Obama seemed to eliminate any sense of self-doubt or uncertainty about my value as an individual.
Barack and I had plans to drive to the outlet mall that afternoon. As we left my house and walked toward my husband’s Ford Explorer, we laughed like two old friends. He gave me a playful nudge and said, I just love you! This made me ridiculously happy. When we reached the car, he had trouble fitting into the passenger seat because his legs were so long. The back seat was down and needed lifting. I was afraid he would make me lift it by myself, but he helped me. Then we drove to the mall.
21 March 2008
I'm standing on a street corner watching Barack enthusiastically help a baby onto a pogo-stick / bicycle hybrid made of flimsy white plastic. The baby and pogocycle topple over onto the pavement. The thuddy sound was not unlike an old mushy piece of fruit landing on the floor. I remember being at once fascinated by the fact no brains spilled anywhere, and horrified at the sight and sound.
I am at a dinner table with twenty-five people I've known in my life, as well as some I've never met. I start choking but everyone is talking and laughing and no one notices me struggling. I try to stand to get their attention when I feel someone grab me and begin the Heimlich, launching the chunk of food into the middle of the table. I turned to see who helped me, and it's Barack Obama! He takes my hands and gives me a big smile and says Thank you! -- like he did at the rally in Seattle in real life.
I say, You're welcome! My gosh, I didn't even know you were going to be here tonight. Then he leaves and I wonder why he thanked me.
I am in an apartment building, the fourth I've moved into this year. Barack is unconscious in its medical care ward, and the only doctor there is absorbed with another patient. I ask if I can help, but he says no. I then follow the doctor to an elevator as he carries Barack out -- to get him better care elsewhere, I assume.
On the way down, the elevator starts shaking wildly. I think it might be an earthquake, given the ferocity. I try to relax my body and ride it out. Then the building crashes to the ground. I am unharmed. The doctor carrying Barack seems fine, and Barack is not harmed further. The doctor hurries off with him and I learn that the building was still under construction from the 6th floor up, and was poorly made, which is why it was collapsing.
20 March 2008
Barack was giving a speech at The Phoenix Zoo, standing inside an exhibit. He had an orangutan on his shoulders and was talking about the importance of conservation. I found myself very impressed with his ideas but a little put off by the fact that he was so rushed that he didn't have time to talk with us after his speech, and was just hustled on to his next engagement by a crowd of handlers.
Barack was the new youth minister at my University. As a gesture of welcome, a group of us invited him out for the night for beers. The evening was a success, and we returned with him to his faculty apartment for some late-night, meaning-of-life conversation. We were getting comfortable when Barack excused himself to go to the restroom and came out lighting his Speed Stick Gel deodorant on fire and huffing the fumes. His adeptness with the deodorant/lighter technique and lack of self- consciousness implied this was simply his standard nightcap.
19 March 2008
I am in the back seat of a car that Barack is driving. Michelle is in the passenger seat. We don't know each other well -- maybe they picked me up hitchhiking. I ask him about his daughters and I talk about the tiny crap-hole apartment I used to live in.
It's the next day, and I'm talking to my coworker about Barack, feeling like I have a crush on him or something. I'm an editor at a magazine, and my boss overhears. He says he wants to use my connection with Barack to ask him to write a story on kids' room storage solutions. I feel that it's not best way to utilize him.
I was going to a retreat center in the mountains to do a mini-workshop with a shaman. I arrived late and walked out of the lodge to find the group. I walked down the path in the snow, and caught the last of the "ritual" with the (Inuit?) shaman sitting by the fire, doing some sort of blessing. Then it was over. Heading back, I found myself walking with Barack. I somehow knew him on a personal level, and we chatted about how the campaign was going, how he was holding up, etc. It felt good to see him, like seeing an old friend. We went into the lodge together, finishing our conversation. Michelle saw us walk in and gave me a dirty look. I remember feeling annoyed because Barack and I were just friends and she knew that.
I dreamed that an old romantic comedy which Obama had starred in in his younger days was dug up and was playing at every theater in the country. The movie was pretty bad but I remember thinking how unfair it was for people not to vote for him just because he wasn't a good actor.
I was on Obama's campaign bus and was sitting right next to him on some sort of a bench. He was wearing a crisp, light blue shirt, which I think contributed to me wanting to snuggle up closer to him. He then hugged me and we held each other for a while like that. The embrace had the warmth of fatherly affection, but I also remember waking up semi-aroused and thinking about his body.
Barack was teaching a middle school class. I was at a desk in the back of the room. Everyone had slightly over-sized bobble heads, including Barack. He was a passionate teacher and had all of us engaged in a lesson. Then he pulled out an electric guitar and started playing and walking around the classroom, singing. When he came near my desk I jokingly yelled, Do your thang Huckabee! Do your thang!
I'm sitting in an ice cream store and Barack and Michelle walk in. My friend leans across the table to let me know that this is Barack's new campaign strategy: no more big rallies, just meeting normal people in normal places. After a few minutes, I leave the shop and run into Barack outside. He tells me to walk and talk with him. He always walks a few steps ahead of me. He asks if I'm a student, and I feel ashamed to say that I graduated several years ago. I tell him I'm a youth minister. Barack laughs derisively and walks away.
My grandmother told me her dream:
I was in the living room of a modest apartment. There was a small dinner party and I was dancing with Obama. I went into the dining room and announced, I forgot to tell you that this is my husband Barack Obama and he is running for president. Then I said, Oh wait, I made a mistake, he's not my husband. Michelle came in and I told that her I was sorry I said Barack was my husband because he is hers. She replied, That's okay. Then everyone but me sat at the dinner table and Barack felt sick from the food and turned different colors. Next scene we are in an auditorium and I'm standing in the back. Barack is walking down the aisle on the left side and he's asking people to vote for him.
Barack made a campaign stop in my hometown. Someone had booked him in a hotel that had a bathroom made entirely of glass, so you could see from the outside what he was doing in there, however it was clouded glass so you couldn't see anything clearly. Someone made a video of him showering and posted it on the internet. Of course, this caused a hailstorm of controversy and everyone demanded that Obama explain why he would book a hotel with a see-through bathroom. He countered by explaining that it really wasn't a big deal because it was clouded glass and you couldn't see everything.
18 March 2008
My wife and I were driving an SUV on riverbed in Alaska. We pulled out of the river into a hotel parking lot. Then I found myself without my wife, in my hotel room, in the bathroom. Barack Obama came in.
I said Mr. Obama, and he looked at me and addressed me by name. I was uncertain what to do, began to stand, then decided against it halfway. I had also reflexively put out my hand to shake his, and Barack did too. We both stopped, with pained expressions, and I said, You don't have to. He quickly shook my hand.
I sat down and told him he should wash his hand but he left the room. Immediately, a Secret Service agent came in and started to check the room for bugs. I asked him to give me a minute but he insisted he had to sweep the room right away. Obama was right outside the door asking me to hurry up because he had to go, but I was so self-conscious with this Secret Service agent there that I could not do my business.
I was in a large house with vaulted ceilings and skylights, sitting opposite Barack at the Fisher Price table my brother and I had when we were kids. Like old friends, Barack and I were catching up on life and chatting about foreign policy and health care. Finally he had to go and asked if he could use our bathroom on the way out. I said sure. A dozen or so of my friends were scurrying around the house, playing tag. Just as Barack reached the bathroom, a friend darted in front of him, went in, and slammed the door. He shrugged like it was no big deal. I apologized.
17 March 2008
I dreamt that I was in a great big field. There was a volcano near me. Barack appeared above the volcano with an elephant on his head. The volcano erupted and Barack flew toward me. The elephant picked me up and put me on his back. The end.
(His father and I are both avid Barack supporters and talk about the race quite a bit at home.)
I dreamed I was at an Obama rally. As he spoke, he began to raise his hands in the air and levitate small objects around him. Everyone was shocked at first, but quickly accepted his abilities as real. He seemed a bit uncomfortable with what had happened, like he didn't mean to do what he did.
I had a vivid Barack dream last night that spoke to me of one of my ongoing internal struggles. I was at a campaign event for Barack, like a community BBQ. We sat at long picnic tables and Barack was on my right. It was like we knew each other and he was checking in to see what I was doing with my life. I said I was a filmmaker and I started going on about the transformative power of art. I mentioned Marcel Duchamp for some reason. Hearing that, Barack shook his head disapprovingly, asking me what it had to do with real folks like the ones at this BBQ. He thought I was wasting my life with all this artsy fartsy stuff and I should be doing something more pragmatic and political, be a lawyer like him, commit myself to service. I felt ashamed. My dream shifted and suddenly I was an indentured servant in some bizarre building complex surrounded by barbed wire. I was trying to escape, but it sort of felt like punishment for my self-indulgent ways.
I was working in a giant field that had been freshly tilled and Barack was showing me how to pick out the rocks from the soil and toss them to the outskirts. As I pitched my first few rocks he was very encouraging, and placed his hand on my shoulder at one point to offer me kudos for my efforts. There was a crowd of dusty onlookers that were watching him instruct me. I remember feeling excited about what we might plant there.
16 March 2008
I was in a conference room at a hotel, standing behind white columns at the back of the room. I'm not sure if there were other people in the room at the time. In slacks and a white oxford with sleeves rolled up, Barack approached me and extended his arms, and we embraced. He said, Thank you for your help, Verna. We hugged and he kissed my cheek. We continued embracing and then suddenly we were kissing for just a few more seconds. We both stepped back and looked at each other in confusion and surprise. I awkwardly stuttered my through an excuse to leave and Barack did the same. In the dream, I somehow knew his wife was approaching and that we needed to part ways before she discovered us. And that was that.
I went to see my therapist at our regular time. When I entered her office, Barack Obama was sitting on the couch, leaning forward, looking like himself on the cover of The Audacity of Hope. My therapist informed me that instead of our regular individual therapy, we would be having group therapy with Barack and one other person, who I didn't recognize. I felt angry that Barack was intruding on our session.
14 March 2008
I had a dream that Barack, my favorite musician, and my first love were the same person. When I woke up I began thinking that these three people have inspired me in a similar ways and intensities but through different mediums (politics, music and love).
I was standing on an enormous stage with Obama, his family, and many other people. The sun was shining radiantly in our eyes; a huge glowing green field stretched out before us. My husband of six months and I stood behind Barack, holding hands, sturdy and joyful. I was overwhelmed with a feeling of certainty that my husband and I will have a good, happy life together.
13 March 2008
I'm watching a movie preview for Horton Hears A Who. They're showing clips of the actors reading their lines, then a clip of the cartoon character finishing the line. The actor playing Horton is Barack Obama! He is saying the line, We must travel secretly...
I dreamed that someone gave me a book by Barack, but instead of The Audacity of Hope it was The Lion King children's book. The strange thing was that instead of Simba's face on the lion it was Barack's. Then when I closed the book I looked up and saw Barack smiling and he asked if I liked it. I said, I loved it. The Lion King is one of my favorite movies.
I was in an empty restaurant, sitting with Barack at a table. I asked Barack about his feelings regarding the constant need for him to publicly reiterate that he is not a Muslim. Barack said nothing, got up and walked away. I tried to follow him, but he was elusive. I grew humiliated and upset.
12 March 2008
Barack and I had been involved in what I thought was a serious romantic relationship. Throughout the evening, I was sending him loving text messages and continually checking my phone, though I never received a response. As the dream progressed it became clear that he was either focused on his campaign or, more likely, had just lost interest in me, which was very upsetting.
I was hanging out with Barack, flirting with him a bit. My boyfriend was with me and started getting annoyed at this. I dismissed my him, saying, Dude...it's Obama! As in, DUH, of course I'm going to flirt with him, nothing wrong with that. Then I got a pang of guilt when I thought about Michelle Obama, thinking that I shouldn't be a homewrecker.
I dreamed Obama was a candidate in the Spanish general elections. It was election day and I went to cast my vote for him. I was looking around for the paper ballot but couldn't find it. I became desperate and went up to the lazy officials, blaming them for just sitting around rather than having the ballots ready. I left the polling station sadly. Walking around the corner, I witnessed Barack cleaning the foggy windows of an expensive home. I tried to run and tell him that I was unable to cast my vote, but I was too sad, my legs were too heavy -- I could not advance. I was moving in the same place. I saw him, in the distance, grow tired. He sat down on an empty wooden stool in a fetal position. He looked beautiful and peaceful, still as a sculpture.
I saw Obama walking down the street in a small village in Thailand. I asked him what he was doing here in Thailand when he should have been campaigning in America. We started talking, and he said he didn't have any place to stay in Thailand. I told him he could stay with me, and he thanked me and we went off to do other things. Then I remembered that I was living with my students and I wasn't in any position to say he could stay with us, especially since it was women-only house. I grew really worried.
The thing is, I actually live in the same neighborhood as Obama and many of my friends have seen him near my home. Why did I displace the meeting to Thailand?
I was taking a trip to Hawaii -- but it was all very rushed and sudden. I could see the plane waiting on the runway and I was in my room thinking I needed something to read for the trip. As I was getting closer to the plane (its colors were brown and red) I saw Barack, who was going there, too. I thought that I should have brought a swimsuit.
11 March 2008
It was Valentine's Day. I was waiting in line at a cheap department store. I was fifth or sith in line, and all of a sudden I saw that Barack was behind me. No one would let him cut in line, so I let him go ahead of me. He was wearing a completely pink suit. He had a dozen roses.
How come you're not dressed up for Valentine's Day? he asked me.
I told him I didn't usually do that, and he replied Oh I see, you like to take it easy. That's cool. He paid for the roses and strolled out.
Barack had come to speak at my summer camp. It was outside at Sunday Service, and we were all sitting on wooden benches looking out over the water. There were only a handful of people in attendance. I'd helped set up the event, so I was sitting close up. After he spoke, I raised my hand to ask a question.
Barack, are you a feminist?
He said he was not. I was very disappointed. This guy next to me wearing gold cuff links starts laughing at my question. Then I stormed out and said that I was voting for Hillary.
10 March 2008
Barack Obama stopped by with Lorna, a woman I used to work with. They were just standing there, he in a white shirt and dark pants, she stark naked with her long red hair covering her shoulders like she was Lady Godiva.
He had brought her to pick up the baby, which was in the other room. He was explaining to me that she would be taking care of it. I was quite surprised because Lorna is an unmarried woman in her late 50’s, has no children, and I couldn’t understand why she would be caring for his – her? – infant.
Then they left, explaining they had to be on their way.
Barack and I were in the back seat of a moving car. He was on top of me. We were making out (clothed). Barack kept whispering in my ear, Tell me what you want me to change...Tell me what you want me to change... Each time I tried to tell him, he'd go, Shhh, not too loud. I think he was trying to protect me. It was pretty hot. Let's just say I was on the fence between before I went to bed that night, and when I woke up, I wasn't.
I was walking against the current through a crowd of people and Barack was walking toward me. He was so magnetic and seemed to be emitting a golden light -- very shiny. I couldn’t look away. He smiled at me, and just as he was next to me I thought, I have to vote for Obama. Once he was gone, however, I snapped back into the "real world" and wondered what had just happened. I felt as though some spell had been cast over me, and I was pretty angry at him.
I'd been invited to ride in the Obama campaign bus. I've done a little freelance journalism in my time, so I was taking notes as if I was interviewing him. The Senator was actually driving the bus. He was wearing his usual dark suit and was chatting very informally with me, was very polite and amiable. The specific quote I remember him saying was this: Mary, you're a very busy person. How do you balance it all? How do you recharge your battery? He asked this in a very respectful-of-the-working class way, and we had a rather mundane but pleasant conversation.
I remember him spinning the big steering wheel, and casting his clear gaze across the horizon as he drove. I woke with the impression that he could win.
I was in a smoky, hazy hotel office/suite with Barack Obama. We had driven back together from a big rally and speech. He walked ahead of me and was dismissive, or maybe just distracted. I wasn't sure whether he'd already won the presidency or was still just a candidate. I was acting as one of his assistants.
I'd been respectfully carrying his coat and now I lay it on the bed. When I tried to engage him in some light banter about how he felt about the rally, he seemed distracted and annoyed. I was struck that in private, behind closed doors, he was a different man: cordial enough, certainly not mean-spirited, but his tone in private was nothing like his public persona.
He reached for a pack of cigarettes, though the room was already smoky enough.
09 March 2008
My dream was set at the Robert F. Kennedy assassination, in that same room. Barack was at the podium. He finished speaking and stepped down from the podium and began his exit, everything as it had been at the RFK assassination – at least as I have seen it portrayed in films. As Barack walked through the narrow path which security had made through the crowd, a man lunged forward and shot and killed him. The moment I woke up, I felt overwhelmed by futility and profound frustration. I felt terrible for the people whose hopes had been shattered, with no recourse.
08 March 2008
I went to Washington to meet Barack. He was running around and I kept having to run to catch up with him. I was going up to people and telling them who he was – that he was running for president, and just all the great things about him.
But I was not doing a good job. I would stutter and lose my train of thought. People weren't listening to me. I was so frustrated! These people were walking right past him and they didn't know that he was the most amazing man in the world!
Barack and I ended up in his small office. It was inside a classroom where advanced math was being taught. We talked for some time and I explained that I am not a good speaker – that I have problems conveying my thoughts accurately. He told me to talk to one of his staff who would help me.
Then I asked Barack why he had allowed me into his office and he said it was because of my “letter.” Apparently I had written him a letter. Well, he had to run off again, this time to the Library to Congress to return a copy of the Constitution that dated back to the 1700s.
I began going up to people in the street, and talking to them, trying to tell them who Barack Obama was, but I was no better than I had been in the beginning.
07 March 2008
I became best friends with Barack Obama. We had a sleepover at his house and played board games all night, like it was middle school again. In the morning, he went to the kitchen to cook up some pancakes. While he was out of the room, I took the opportunity to call my friend on the phone, all excited, saying, You have to come over! I'm at Barack's house and we have pancakes!
She replied, Yeah, whatever, me and Barack are BFF. We’re going to hang out later this afternoon.
06 March 2008
I was in a Barnes & Noble with my boss. Barack stopped in while we were perusing books on the second floor. I guessed he had a speaking engagement nearby. He was standing next to us and all kinds of people were coming up to him and telling him that they supported his policies, telling him their stories, asking him questions. His presence was very calming and he answered everyone's questions thoughtfully.
I woke up understanding why people like him, and thinking to myself that I should try to read more about this election and maybe even vote.
05 March 2008
Keanu Reeves was voted in as the next President of the United States. He was giving his acceptance speech, dressed in jeans and a hoodie. He looked good, but we were all shocked. How did he win? Did we even know he was running? I set about urgently painting him a sign, twelve metres long, with a too-dry paint brush, reminding him of all the things he had to remember: Prioritize education. Provide medicare. Cap corporate profits. The environment! There were two brief interruptions as we fielded interviewed reactions from Hillary Clinton and Barack Obama. They were both equally stumped. They didn't know he was running, but were gracious losers.
04 March 2008
I was back in College. Barack was a professor. It was Thanksgiving weekend, and Barack was organizing an Orphan's Thanksgiving for all of us who had no where else to go. It became a really huge production. People were abandoning their plans with their families in order to go to Barack's house. I was put in charge of writing thank-you notes and baking the pies (I had explained to Barack how my family always made key lime pie for Thanksgiving). Over dinner, Barack described Illyrian architecture. When I woke, I wondered, Is there such a thing as Illyrian architecture?
It was very strange. Usually I just dream about my teeth falling out.
02 March 2008
Barack and I were sitting in my office, and he was consulting with me about corrective eye surgery. He had been referred to my practice for my expertise, and though I was flattered that he had come to me, I referred him to a well-known surgeon for the consult. I asked about his eyeglasses and if I might see them. He said he hated his glasses, but when he showed them to me, they were beautiful retro frames: thick, tortoise-shell, plastic. Yet they were mangled and badly in need of repair. I encouraged him to wear them, and offered to repair them. I began adjusting the frames in my private lab when I promptly broke them. I was horrified.