Flailing on the edge of the ‘Shit Girls Say‘ bandwagon, holding on for dear life, Monique can’t seem to focus on anything but this Saturday, when she and 3 others will venture around Los Angeles, video camera and lip gloss in tow, in hopes of portraying an accurate picture of ‘Shit Single Girls Say in L.A.’.

She pauses here to put on her headphones so she can concentrate. Feeling but looking nothing like this little cousin guy. –>

This Saturday she will be co-starring in her first scripted YouTube video. Here’s what’s going through her head: ‘sure I can act in my room in front of my mirror but in front of a camera?’ and ‘can we really finish the entire thing in a day?’ and ‘I wonder if it will go viral’ and ‘is this trend even viral-able anymore?’

Her gut tells her it doesn’t matter. She’s only in it to have fun and make people laugh. A more serious side says, “But yeah you’re dedicating an entire Saturday to this. A Saturday you could spend studying for the GMAT and possibly fitting in a 4-mile run. Something good better come out of this shit.”

She ignores both gut and serious side in favor of a large sip of water and a long back crack. Also, she opened up her novel last night. She read it in its entirety. 12 pages. Twelve whole ones. She wrote a small paragraph, tweeted it, and got so distracted she made herself sleepy.

Does that number of lines even make the paragraph minimum? By the time she’d removed her contacts and the rubble from between her teeth she could barely get through more than a page of the book she was supposed to review weeks ago before drifting off to a rather shortish-long sleep that should have been dreamless but was not.

A note on dreams before she showers and pretends to read again before she sleeps: they’re real. Here’s why.

When Monique first picked up the idea to write this novel and popped it into her mouth like a mint from a welcome dish, she’d had a dream about her dog. This was either early to mid 2011. She dreamed her dog had choked on a green tennis ball, dying before her eyes, choking and spasmodic. Without a clue as to how to rescue the dog, she pushed on the bulging tennis ball lodged in the dog’s throat, and the dog was alright. The moment of the choke however, was a long and grueling one, and those brief air-clogged dog seconds were like hours in her dream-fog.

Just a mere week and a half ago, Monique’s dog had a seizure right before her very eyes, violently shaking and convulsing in much the way the dog choked in the dream. It was the first time one of her dreams attempted to predict anything but her true life insanity, which she was already vaguely aware of. Why did she remember this petrifying dream? Because she opened her novel. That very dream is described on the very first bloody page of it. It gave her goosebumps. Maybe that was why she couldn’t get past a paragraph the night before.

If her current dreams are any indicator of the future, she should probably tell you that last night she dreamed Oprah passed away in a red dress. Everyone lowered her body in a body of water slowly, some strange burial service she’d requested before her death. You can imagine the world’s shock when she rose from the water seconds after she was submerged, alive.

We all felt pretty bad about it.

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Monique Muro

Monique is an exceedingly happy human from LA. She runs the blog A Novel Quest, and writes. A lot.

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