I get a phone call from "a friend" to visit the prison, and the guards let me in, and all that are on the other side of the glass are these huge piles of letters.
There must be several tons of these letters, and I am wondering what is going on. Do they need some kind of secretary over at this prison, are they that short on staff? I ask, out loud, "Are you trying to con me into being a file clerk for your firm by doing this to me?"
I'm crying, for what seems to be no reason at all. Then, this prison guard walks up to me and states, "These letters are all from you. We don't need a file clerk. We want to know how you managed to write them all."
I protest, and state that I have not written any of these letters, that there's no way I could have written that many, and I tell them that this is a violation of EEOC policies, that I am absolutely not going to work as a secretary ever again, or even a file clerk, and that I don't want to be working under a bunch of women who have nothing better to do than write things like this on a charity's payroll.
Then, the security guard asks me, what charity, so I tell him "The Foundation". Then, he spends hours asking me questions about this mysterious "Foundation" that I have absolutely no answers to.
His supervisor walks in and tells me that the "Foundation" is absolutely for real, 100% legitimate, and that I should just be shown the rest of the letters.
My mouth drops open, and my hand lets go of my purse, which drops to the floor, opening up to reveal a small gerbil, which begins sniffing about for fresh air, seeds, or something. I scamper about the floor after my tiny gerbil, who has turned my entire notepad to shreds, as well as much of the pocketbook lining, and who is somewhat dehydrated. Then, I get out his little water bottle.
The security guards are laughing, and the supervisor is puzzling over the shredded, mainly blank notepad, as well as the crumpled, half-chewed bits of confetti from various sources at the bottom of my purse.
I am escorted into the prison, holding the small gerbil in my arms, who is still eagerly drinking from the water bottle.
We get to the first prison cell, I am shown large piles of papers, all purportedly from myself. Then, we arrive at the second prison cell, and there are more huge piles of papers, containing handwritten and typed reports, letters, memos, etceteras, all purportedly from myself. I ask if we could leave, as this is getting to be a bit much for the gerbil, who is beginning to squirm a bit.
We arrive at the third jail cell, and the gerbil leaps from my arms into the prison, and is lost amongst all the stacks of papers. I leave the water bottle there for him, as searching for a tiny gerbil hiding admidst so many stacks of literature would be difficult, even if the gerbil felt like cooperating.
Then, we see the fourth prison cell, the fifth prison cell, the sixth prison cell, ad nauseum, all full of letters, purportedly from myself. It was sort of this Alice in Wonderland nightmare, where the prison cells just became more and more strange.
When the tour is over with, the prison guards ask for support money for the pet gerbil, and inquire if I will be bringing more sometime in the near future. I scratch my head and state that it will depend on my wherewithal in the near future.
Since this dream, which I have considered to be a warning, I have stopped writing, and am seriously trying to change my handwriting to something impossible to mimic or forge.
I have not had this dream since then. I hope the dream prison guards don't miss me.
