I dreamed I was in a really weird movie about Virginia Woolf: writerly biopic meets “mysterious stranger upends normal life” meets edgy contemporary chick flick. Sometimes I was watching the film, sometimes I was a character in it. One moment I was seeing gorgeous establishing shots of the interior of Virginia’s country home; the next, I was one of Virginia’s friends, sprawled across the bed in lingerie, filling out an absentee ballot (!) in hot pink lipstick to an upbeat girl-rock soundtrack. Yes, I told you it was weird.
The dream begins with me walking along the street after Virginia as she makes her way through town. Soon the mysterious stranger — a belligerent and yet suavely sneaky-looking dark-haired young man with a heavy, exotic accent, wearing a brightly embellished brown uniform — approaches and makes his “I sound harmless, yet I am making thinly veiled threats against your person” remarks. Virginia is clearly repulsed by him in that “actually I know why you’re here but I won’t be having any of that/you are a remnant of a life I left behind long ago” way. She rejects him firmly and walks more briskly back toward home, not looking behind her, yet knowing the stranger is following.
We get to the walled back garden of Virginia’s home, and I am already there inside, waiting for her. Another woman approaches and embraces her, and Virginia jumps, thinking she’s the stranger. They go inside, where another woman greets them. After a moment, in which I look around and observe the garden for the benefit of the audience and the camera, I go inside too, but the mysterious stranger is close on my heels. I try to shut the door on him, doing my frightened, ineffectual best to turn the locks before he can get in, but he forces through and confronts me. More obscure allusions to Virginia’s safety, more bizarre accent and equally mysterious gestures — three papers are pressed into my hands. The stranger leaves, and I lock the door.
In the living room, crammed with beautiful furniture and vases of flowers, lit by large windows and a high ceiling, Virginia is sitting on the floor wearing a purple sweater and wide-legged black pants. She looks young, pretty, as in this photo, but with insane, poufy pre-Raphaelite hair. One of the other women sits close beside her, while another lounges in the adjoining kitchen. Another woman joins her at the table, and the one who was there first explains to her, “We’re doing name practice for her book.” The new arrival says, “What about ‘Lindy’?” The other two women burst into laughter while Virginia shakes her head distractedly. “Oh no, never!” says the one sitting next to Virginia. “‘Lindy’ indeed!” They laugh again.
After this, all four women sit at the kitchen table. It is evening; the room is warm, well-lit. Virginia sits at the table’s edge, opening her mail. She looks like a period piece, while the other three women look like flirty beauties from a 1920s flick. They have short, dark hair, cut in either a straight Louise Brooks bob, or waved, and they wear red lipstick and pencil their eyebrows. They are Virginia’s housemates and BFFs, and they share their boyfriends, beds, frocks, and secrets. I am one of them. I hand Virginia the three sheets of thin paper from the mysterious stranger, and she takes them, thinking they are more mail. While the other friends laugh and joke around us, I see Virginia glance down at the papers and her face become troubled.
I don’t remember too much after that, but there was definitely more. In one moment I look at Virginia and she’s wearing jeans, and this is so disturbing to me that my mind actually fixes it and puts her back into the wide-legged black pants, which, though still wrong, are an improvement.
When I say I haven’t slept well, it’s usually at least partly because I’m having dreams like this!!
satsumabug.com | Lisa Hsia 
