I'm in a beautiful red dress a lot like the one Mom made me and black shoes, velvet with velvet ribbons. A man is dancing with me and he's like a Minotaur, and he asks where I'm from. I say I've been to Turkey and I've read the classics. But then my life is mirroring Sylvia Plath. I see her life and mine mimics it. I run my car off a cliff and I try to hold on to it but it's too heavy, I let it go and somebody saves me. I'm dressed in fifties clothes and I'm part of a themed daycare named Edward Little, some author I've read and loved. But the bliss doesn't last long. I'm shaking the children trying to get them to speak to me like adults. They give me Sylvia Plath's diaries. "Peanut" is one of the poems. The psychiatrist tries to unblock me but I try to hit him with his golf clubs in my hypnotic state. My brother is there but he's Elijah Wood. I'm on a double decker bus smoking and sad in an epic stance. It's always like this in my dreams, first the Titanic, then I rewrite the Haunting of Hill House.