five lemons, two dreams, and one cha-cha

On the 19th, Pat and I baked a muffin in a pie pan in celebration of our two-year anniversary. We decorated it with twenty-four neon candles that sunk into the soft dough. By the time the last candle was lit, the muffin was streaked with wax.

Being photogenic means you look good in pictures.

Sometime last week a girl messaged me and demanded to know my name, and it was like she had poured icy water down my shirt. I told her it was Kate, and then! - "Oh, Angelique, it's you." It's the second time somebody's asked for my name and then decided to make a name up for me instead. Except the first person didn't believe me. I offered to send him a picture of me, but he wouldn't accept it because it "might be a virus." I decided not to teach him about viruses and the difference between executable files and pictures. Instead, I uploaded the photo online and supplied him with the link. BUT HE STILL WASN'T CONVINCED. So I volleyed insults at him for awhile, and then I watched TV in the other room.

After Pat got off work today, we drove to Jamba Juice and bought pineapple smoothies, and then we stopped by GameStop. I dropped off a job application that will probably slide off the counter into a box of Sonic the Hedgehog posters. Pat bought a couple of computer games. The store manager planted his elbows on the counter and rested his chin on the heel of his palm, and gazed out the window at the milky sky. I hate to disturb people when they're like that. It's like interrupting an intriguing conversation they're having with themselves.

Pat and I returned to my house after that, and as I was slipping off my shoes my mom called to me from the other room asking if it was raining. I told her it was. And then she asked me if I was sure. I didn't know what to think of that. It was like being asked if I still had a vagina.

It's been sticky outside this week. Last night Pat and I stopped by Lucky Market to pick up some packages of ramen. I stayed in the car and watched Asian couples pull into the parking lot and enter the store. I like looking at Asian people. I rode the subway daily last summer during my stay in Japan, and everyone tried to be inconspicuous as they eyed us over their magazines or newspapers. So now I'm getting my revenge.

Two nights ago I dreamt that the paraprofessionals at school were plotting to kill a blind boy over lunch in the teachers' lounge on the third floor. Because I had heard, I, too, had to be killed. Like rice with your stir fry. All of the paraprofessionals were clustered near the door hovering over a rolling cart with ice on it, so, realizing that this would be my only opportunity to escape, I hit one of them in the face with a ceramic plate and darted down the hall towards the stairs. It wasn't until I was halfway down that I heard anyone following me, and that's when it felt like I was running through water. I threw open the doors and spotted Pat's car immediately, and I woke up as I was screaming for him to start the car. Paraprofessionals are always barking at the special ed. kids like they're emotionally incapcitated as well as mentally. It pisses me off. They should get jobs boxing cereal or looking at things in test tubes if they don't even like the children they teach every day.

This morning I had a dream that I was in a class with both American and Japanese students, and all we did was write letters to one another. We were given the same student to correspond with every day, but one day a substitute teacher arrived and assigned new partners. I whined and whined because I wanted to write a letter to the girl I normally wrote notes to until class ended and I was no longer required to complete the assignment. I was the last one to leave the classroom. As I slung my backpack over my shoulder, I noticed a pile of white index cards in the corner of the room. They all had names of American students written on them, and were otherwise blank. The Japanese students didn't want to write to us, either. Then I went to chemistry and my dream evaporated.

And there are five lemons in a little mesh sack on the kitchen counter. Goodnight.