I moved to Israel. The hotel where I’m staying ran out of falafel last night. I ate a carrot for dinner, with hummus. I did not go to the dinner buffet. The head waiter, Abed, likes my children, because they are well-behaved. Many of the other children who come to dinner throw spaghetti noodles at the walls and slap their parents. He sends plates of fruit upstairs with us after dinner: pears, yellow oranges, something that looks like a plum. Soon, when we move to a house, I will be able to cook my own food again, if I can remember how. I will not be able to rely on Abed to make sure I have fruit to eat when I am lonely in the middle of the night.
Dream: The first elevator is the size of a master bedroom. It goes from the ground to the sky and back. The second elevator is the size of a dorm room, and rises only half as high as the first before returning to earth. The third elevator is the size of an IKEA elevator; the pattern of ascent and descent continues. The fourth elevator is the size of an elevator. When it stops, I get out and go into the next one; it’s the size of an accessible shower. It feels small. I disembark and push the button to open the next elevator. It’s no bigger than a single shower stall. This elevator ride is dark and upsetting, but it feels good to get out of it. I look for the next elevator. The button is in the shape of a cherry, and it flashes when I push it. The new elevator arrives. It’s the size of a dumbwaiter, and opens like one. Inside, where I will barely fit if I contort my body, it looks cozy and inviting. There is a candle burning in a recessed alcove. It occurs to me that the ride on this dumbwaiter-elevator will be very brief, if the pattern continues, and evidence suggests it will. I bend down and start to climb inside, arms and head first. But someone wakes me up before I can see if I will fit inside the small, romantic elevator, and where it will go, and whether the candle is scented or not, and whether it was the last elevator in the series, or if I would have been offered another elevator the size of a Christmas present.