Excerpts of recent dreams submitted to IDreamofHillaryIDreamofBarack.com, a blog run by writer Sheila Heti.
I had a dream that Hillary Clinton was trying to seduce me, and it worked a little. I was thinking, She’s never looked more beautiful, her eyes shining in the light. Eventually, we went shopping for Tupperware.
I was at some kind of county fair and Hillary walked up to me and said Hi Dan! (I didn’t know how she knew my name.) I’m Hillary Clinton. Are you going to vote for me?
I told her that I hadn’t decided yet. She told me that she had to go to the restroom, but that if I went with her into the bathroom she would talk to me while she took care of business. I followed her into the restroom and she went into one of the stalls. She started talking about her platform but I wasn’t paying attention because I was trying to get the bathroom door locked. I didn’t want to get caught in a women’s restroom with Hillary Clinton. She came walking out of the stall with a Dole pineapple whip. She said, Look what I found in the stall. This is delicious!
Hillary Clinton and I were cleaning my parents’ attic. She was actually a lot of fun, and we got a lot of work done.
I was with James Carville and Hillary in the living room. Bill was frolicking—jumping around on the furniture. He was mute; he physically couldn’t talk. Hillary took me into the kitchen to have a girl talk, with her favorite dog in arms. The discussion descended into whether or not she should attend the Cannes Film Festival this year.
Hillary and I were making love and I, for the first time in my life, had feelings of sympathy and admiration for her. There was little talking, but I recall feeling all of her life’s power and accomplishment during the act. To my frustration, my lovemaking skills were not enough for her.
I dreamed that I was in Hillary’s small, one-bedroom apartment and she had a little bit of coke left, like a line, and I did it and she got mad at me.
At the end of an otherwise non-Barack-related dream, I had the astonishing image of Barack eating the votes that had been cast for Hillary like slices of smoked tofu. He didn’t say anything, but seemed calm.
Barack Obama was my teacher. Despite myself, I kept falling asleep in his class. Obama said important things and others were deeply moved by his lessons. I desperately wanted to focus, but I was utterly unable to stay awake.
I was running some errands with Barack. Michelle was in the hospital after having a cyst removed, and one of our errands was to pick her up. Barack was driving an SUV down a narrow street with cars parked on both sides, then it dead-ended. It didn’t look like it was possible to turn around. I became very tense. I thought, Oh, no, he’s going to get very angry and run into all these cars when he tries to turn around. Then the media will find out and he’ll ruin his chances of being nominated. But he very coolly did a 7- or 8-point turn.
I had to write a report on Obama so I went to one of his rallies, and in the middle of his speech he looked right at me and said, Some of us need to leave. So I left.
I was Barack’s mistress. He picked me up from a party that I was at with Alton Brown. We went driving around in a small town with lots of fields, then we stopped at an ice-cream shop. I asked the driver if I should buy a suit so that people would think I was Barack’s assistant, rather than his mistress.