It hadn’t been my idea to go to the psychic for a reading. But since I went, I felt I had to listen to what she said.
“Keep a dream journal, meditate. You have considerable psychic abilities.”
“But what about a job?” I asked, hoping my abilities would lead to gainful employment.
“Everything in its time,” was her answer.
Time I had, so I started writing down my dreams. Last night, I dreamed I was a sacker at the grocery store. My hair was in a strict bun. I wore a stiff white apron. I worked wildly to keep up with the groceries, but the bags ripped at my touch. I was trying to stick a Sara Lee pound cake into a sack, when my clothes disappeared. There I stood, naked and embarrassed, clutching a frozen dessert. Then I noticed my ex-lover, Walter, in the check-out line.
