the narrator squawks

i dreamt i was narrator of a play. it was impromptu and you were allowed to bring your script on stage. the lights were low and i could barely see my pages. when the lights came up, i was stuck in a ditch beside the road. and the extras were streaming past like prisoners along a highway in WWII, busy with road works. everyone was weirdly dressed.

my dress was a heavy gold brocade and i wore exercise shorts underneath. i had no make-up on because somehow i’d missed the last call. i felt naked. then the bell rang and the performance began.

it was fantastical. there were lights flickering and i couldn’t see my script. i had already read the piece and knew the gist of it, so i grabbed a mic and started making it up. it was a trip. at one point, there were little kids dressed as bees and they slid around on these little brown rugs. there were strange creatures everywhere.

i responded by making a lot of sound effects, interspersed with made-up text. i couldn’t get myself organized. i made no sense. at the end of Act I, the applause was deafening.

are you stuck?