Maintaining my data, remote dream by lissa ivy
(went to sleep listening to Brian Eno’s Discreet Music)
Pools of olive oil in my hands from giving someone (a large man) a massage, balancing on balls of my feet around edges of loft bed. Phone rings, so many rings that I can answer after wiping off my hands. It’s my chiropractor calling to straighten out some technicality re. my address in his files. He explained that he had to write that I’ll be at my temporary address for 10 years, rather than one because otherwise the software would eject me at the end of the year and my data would all be gone.