Plastic Dreams

Before last night, I dreamt in plastic. And it all seemed so real to me at the time. My loft apartment. My Mercedes. The desk in my office at the ad agency. They all seemed so concrete, so unquestionably necessary. Like oxygen or a spine, as if, were they to disappear suddenly, I'd be left bowled-over and wriggling on the floor like an earthworm washed onto the sidewalk.

I dreamt of a world that was disposable, where everything was shiny, spotless and new. State of the art. A world where something as simple as a television or a coffee maker became worthless the moment the newest model hit the shelves, or more likely, the VIP market. After all, why wait for it to become available to the "GP"--that's General Public in ad-speak--when you can buy it on the grey market for twice the price and get it months before anyone else.

I dreamt I was in a world where everything was replaceable at the touch of a button, and the solutions to all of life's problems was no further that a phone call and a credit card away. Where what they say is true, that money can't buy happiness, but the promise of perfection is for sale on every corner, in every window display and magazine rack. Every billboard and bus stop affiche proclaiming in one unanimous voice "We are young. We are beautiful. We are immortal. Join us."

Before last night, I dreamt in plastic. My loft apartment, plastic. My Mercedes, plastic. The desk in my office at the ad agency, where I've spent the last fifteen years designing plastic labels to slap onto plastic products and pack into plastic boxes. Everything plastic. All of it, plastic. Plastic. Plastic. Plas--

You get the picture.

Even my face, my once handsome face, rich in youth and vigour, now spackeled and pumped full of botox and filler--an eye lift here, a chemical peel there--all in an attempt to delay the inevitable. A new coat of paint on a house infested with termites. Brass polish on the Titanic. A chocolate coating on a turd.

Before last night, I dreamt in plastic.
This morning, I woke up.