I had dinner with Stephen King.

At least, I dreamt I had dinner with Stephen King. At least it was some kind of meal. This seems wildly significant, but I’ll start by relating the tale.

Jen and I drove to his apartment. Yes, apartment. It was drab, somewhat run down. A rather Detroit feel, which is a term I later associated it with. I went up the stairs and he let me in, rather familiarly. I go in and wait around for him to get ready. He’s nonchalant, chatting away about minor things, a detail which now eludes me. I’m getting impatient, because Jen is down there waiting. At one point, he even lays on the couch as if he’s gonna take a nap! I urge him to get going, not angrily but not casually, a detail that was not even present in the dream. He wears a gray drab T shirt that’s long, like it’s for big & tall men, which he is. Tall.
We finally get out, and get down to the car. This part is unclear, but Jen and I leave him in the car to wait while we are getting something. An unrecalled transition, and Jen and I are up in OUR apartment, which seems to be in the same building. At some point JEN lies down on the couch as if to take a nap. I mention to her that he had done the same thing! After more unrecalled dawdling, I say - We have STEPHEN KING in the car waiting for us, and we’ve been up here for 20 minutes!
So, we finally go and Stephen King had gone up the back way to HIS apartment to use the bathroom! Jen and I go just down the street to some carry out/pharmacy, to wait on Stephen King. I ask Jen - What city are we in, where does this take place? A sign on the grocery store wall says Phoenix, Arizona. I’m not sure, in the dream, if it is an ad or if it is some indicator of our location. So, we buy a couple things ( a lost detail…) and exit.
I see Stephen King a few feet away, like he’s looking around for us. He stands out because he’s so tall. I call out “STEVE!” He sees us and we meet up. I again note his height as we stand up next to him. The busy street is like something out of Blade Runner, without all the neon. We transition to the eating location, a detail that was not present. We are sitting at tables like a school lunch room! There are a lot of other people. After an unrecalled transition, Jen is sitting by him, but I’m off doing something else. Then I think to myself - We’re having dinner with Stephen King! I should go sit by him and ask him questions! So, I do so. I ask him a couple things, which are lost already! I tell him that I am not a writer because I do not write, but I think I have stories inside. More lost detail. As we’re getting ready to leave, I ask him - How did you do it with kids? He says “It sounds like you’re afraid to get started.”

So many details were lost in the 20 minute span between waking and writing this down. The cinematography of the dream…depressed, average, common. The setting of his apartment…drab, virtually colorless, somewhat old fashioned. Well, 60s old fashioned. The transitions, the questions, the details! Some of the details were lost even as I typed, even as I used my brain to find the unique word combinations that would make this retelling feel significant.

One could take away much significance from this dream. We met Stephen King! An unusually down to earth Stephen King, who told me I was afraid to get started! Well, maybe he has something there. He would know about writing as a job, with children being around and needing raised. But the field is so different now. There are so many hacks out there getting published.

That’s funny. I kinda answered my own question just then. If there are so many hacks getting published, why not ME!?

If something can go wrong...

So, last night we're sitting around doing paperwork...
Jen has a TV tray sitting next to the couch, with her water on it and the remains of dinner. I have a TV tray sitting next to the chair, with my laptop computer on it.
The space between the couch and the chair leads down the hallway, towards the office, kids' bedrooms and bathroom. A high traffic area. This space is now condensed by the accommodating tables.
In my very FINITE wisdom, I move her tray IN FRONT of the couch, next to the coffee table on which is spread the aforementioned paperwork, long neglected by me and finally addressed by the busy matriarch. My reasoning...kids walking through the hallway may bump the table and spill the contents, which at that time also included a glass of wine. Red wine.
An hour passes....nearly two. I may have subconsciously congratulated myself on avoiding a disaster of minor proportions.
Jen calls Jackie to her, asks her about a school paper. Jackie leans in, from the edge of the couch...and leans right into the TV tray.

In slow motion, as Jen later recalls, the table tilts, the liquid containers still upright. It tilts into the edge of the coffee table and stops. The containers, of course, do not stop. The water splashes the papers, the table, the floor. Miraculously drained like a Communion Cup at the end of a Catholic up-and-down, the wine glass explodes against the surface of the table, spreading large chunks and tiny splinters of glass in a 2 foot radius smash zone. Jackie’s stream of apologies comes out as fast as my own torrent of expletives. Rags are retrieved, the table righted, the perpetrator sent away. Shards are gathered, papers wiped and dried, carpet vacuumed.

In hindsight, it could have been much worse. There was very little water left, and the wine had been finished off. Mayo’s Law, however, does not take into account hindsight. Nor, apparently, foresight. Trust me.