Over the last month my dreams have been akin to taking massive quantities of mind-altering substances and watching a series of videos directed by Fellini, with art direction by Dali and dialogue by David Lynch. These include:

I was Tony Soprano’s mistress, unwisely criticizing him at a restaurant in front of his colleagues. That version of me is probably stuffed in one or more trunks buried deep in the Pine Barrens.

I witnessed alligators in the rain-filled drainage ditches out front of my shotgun-style house and had to frantically herd all the pets indoors to avert a gator feast-o-feline. Alas, my neighbors did not act as quickly and their golden-eyed cat – who looked eerily like my own Xena – became a reptile petit-four. (Oddly enough, my aunt *also* had an alligator dream the *same* night. A cross-country coincidence of colossal magnitude.)

I lost my own 23-pound behemoth of cat, Hercules, to a magical passage in an elevator at Macy’s in New York City. Leaving my husband and child to fend for themselves, I had jumped through its in-violation-of-all-sorts-of-codes open doors into the rapidly descending elevator to follow the cat. My dreamland priorities were apparently in the appropriate order.

I presented Elmer, our tiny dog, to Julia Roberts as a replacement for her father’s recently lost, very similar dog. Ms. Roberts was unimpressed with Elmer as a substitute.

Also at Macy’s (I’m all focused on the retail trade) I was offered an upgrade when my hotel room (and Macy’s has now entered the rent-a-room business) wasn’t ready. It was a suite! A fantasy suite! A “Career Fantasy Suite”! What!!?? I can only imagine to what use the fax machine was put.