Part of the purgatory dream involved sorting through childhood toys with my siblings. Some of them were able to speak and move on their own. My favorite happened while sitting with my sister amongst her playthings.
A vet tech came in, holding one of my sister’s earliest toys: a soft doll printed to look like a baby wearing a sheep costume. There was a bell in the head with a pleasant tinkling sound. We always called this doll “Lamby”.
But when the other toys saw the doll called Lamby enter the room, they all joyfully shouted “TIM!”
The little doll raised its fat little arms and shook its head around as if to say, “That’s right, fuckers. You’ve been calling me the wrong name for three decades.”
