I’m not conscious of feeling overwhelmed, but I am really busy, and I start daily work again on Monday for the first time in several years, and I have lots of obligations and things I need to get done, so I guess it’s not all that surprising that last night I dreamed that my husband left me for this really cute, young, college-aged girlfriend (which he had been dating for a while and I was ok with — hello? dream self? — but then they decided they were better off without me), plus my credit cards were all maxed out, plus we had some enormous shared debt that for whatever stupid, martyring reason I was planning to take on all to myself in the divorce so my husband could enjoy himself with his girlfriend without worrying about money.

There was no Sophia. That would have been a bright spot, probably, which was why she was excluded.

I wonder if the cute young thing stealing my husband aspect was due to the hilarious antics of a friend’s two year old daughter yesterday, who decided that she loved Kurt and was using every tool in her arsenal to win him over. I’m told she doesn’t normally act that way, but yesterday she could hardly be budged from his lap, and was giving him hugs and smiles and bringing him toys to look at. It was cute! And not at all threatening, until my subconscious got hold of it and made her into an adult, anyway.

I dreamed that the pepper shaker was inviting the salt shaker (only in my dream it kept being referred to as ’salt cellar’ but it was one with a lid and holes, not the open kind you can pinch from) to stand next to it, when another kitchen utensil took the pepper shaker aside and told it that it needed to stop being so kind to the salt shaker, as the salt shaker was a wealthy snob with no respect for the working man.

I wish I could remember the identity of this other kitchen utensil, the one fomenting class tension. Also, I’m hoping that my subconscious isn’t being all racist, making the black pepper be the prole, while the snowy white salt gets to be the elite, idle rich.

Didn’t you wonder where I’d been?

You’ll also find good, sensical commentary about slush from Ann. You have already heard her story “Hesperia and Glory” on Escape Pod, right? Because it’s awesome. No, really. I speak truth: there is not now, nor has there ever been a well in my basement.

Free advice for writers from my friend Sarah,”Because that two adjectives for every noun thing? It needs to stop. Now.” I’m reminded of it by my adjectives “good” and “sensical” in the previous paragraph. But do note how many nouns went through unadorned, will you?

Have a dream.

Three nights ago, I dreamt I was in this bicycling tour/class taught by former (and much missed) yoga teacher, Judy (may she teach me again). We were in Germany. I was riding in a vehicle next to this guy whom I thought was cute (I couldn’t remember, on waking, anything about what he looked like). A guy coming the opposite way, on a bicycle, had these tremendous dreadlocks, some of which were blue. I said to the man sitting next to me,”Wie sagt man ‘dreadlocks’ auf Deutsch?”

I can only conclude my subconscious is trying to remind me of something important about myself that’s missing, forgotten, but what?

I dreamed that I needed to get some strawberries from the market, because it’s March and Sophia loves strawberries, and there should be some available. I went to the market and searched for the strawberries. There were piles of them, but I wasn’t satisified with what I saw and I kept searching.

Last night I dreamed that I saw my SIL and I had to tell her that I was sorry I hadn’t mailed her her socks, which we took home accidentally at Christmas. We did communal laundry and I didn’t sort quite as carefully as I should have.

So, if you’re reading this, Kelly, my subconscious wants me to tell you that I’m sorry I haven’t mailed you your socks yet.

Fading fast, but here’s what I can cling to. Near the corner of Delmar and Big Bend, there’s an empty wheelchair with a sign on the back. The sign says “Elgazad”, or something similar. The person I’m with tells me that’s the name of a god. For whatever reason, I assume the wheelchair belongs to the god, incarnate, and I’m wondering what kind of sorry god isn’t independently mobile.

We’re standing in line outside a restaurant or bar (or both). It has double glass doors with big square glass pieces for doorknobs (this is fairly common in Argentina). It’s some kind of WUTA get together. While we’re waiting, Tim sings me a song he’s written for me, which is really clever and funny (though, sadly, I can’t replicate any of the lyrics here). I tell him I would love to sing that Kim Gordon punk style. Then I’m humming a few bars of “Temple of Love” and Sarah asks me why that songs sound familiar. She says it sounds like “Today”. I tell her it is Sisters of Mercy, and if “Today” is a Stones song, then there would be the familiarity. (Amusingly, “Temple of Love” was not included in my Sisters of Mercy binge the other day.) We go inside and sit down and I’m writing something to read, but my handwriting doesn’t look like my writing at all. I totally squander this opportunity to read twice and lucid dream, by the way. I don’t remember, recently, another time when I was writing in my dream, especially not cursive, longhand.

The night before, I dreamed that we were supposed to go to Kelly’s house, but she wasn’t going to be home until 6 at night and she hadn’t mailed us a key. She told us to go hang out in this pub until she got home and I was all for 6 hours?! We were arriving around noon.

Soundtracks for the weekend nights: “White and Nerdy” by Weird Al Yankovic and “Zoom a little Zoom” by Tom Glazer and Dottie Evans.

Last night I woke in the middle of the night and had some trouble going back to sleep. This doesn’t happen often, but I do have tricks to get around it. I used the spring unwinding trick (which my husband always makes fun of me for because he thinks it’s ludicrous and silly. Which is probably true. But it works, so what can I say?), except instead of it just being a spring this time, it was a spiral staircase I was following, descending down into sleep.

When my sleep is disrupted and I wake a lot at night, I become aware of a facet of my dreams that I don’t otherwise remember or mention. This is the dream soundtrack. There’s almost always music in my dreams. Actual for real music that I know of and listen to. Last night’s songs were two : the “Boinga” song from the Backyardigans episode I watched with my daughter before going to bed (it’s a good song, Alicia Keys guest sings and she’s smooooove) and “Alice” by the Sisters of Mercy. I can’t remember which was first, but I wonder if my brain was riffing on the “Alice” name when it pulled up both of those particular songs.

I haven’t heard Sisters of Mercy in ages. I will go remedy that right now. That’s bound to cheer me up, right?

“Alice in her party dress
She thanks you kindly
So serene
She needs you like she needs her tranqs
To tell her that the world is clean
To promise her a definition
Tell her where the rain will fall
Tell her where the sun shines bright
And tell her she can have it all
Today”

Several series, and I’m not sure I can remember them all

At some point, I was in Brazil with Bruce Sterling. There was a waterfall. We were looking for, or perhaps avoiding, “loqueras” which were some kind of a cross between girl gangsters and street dancers of some types. The whole time I was with Bruce Sterling, there was no person next to me, because apparently my mind cannot produce a picture for him.

At another point I was holding hands, fingers intertwined with Kurt’s. There was a white tablecloth under our hands.

Several pieces, or maybe several dreams. In the first section, I was meeting up with Kyra whom I haven’s seen in many, many years. We were riding from her house to my house, and it involved that vast, open tract on highway 61 near greenville. I think she may have lived in the delta, but it wasn’t at all like the delta when we got there. Her house was small and dark. The country was full of wheat, sprouted and golden, instead of the more usual cotton and soybeans. At some point, Kyra had a small child, a son or perhaps a daughter (or perhaps the child changed back and forth).

A different section, where I am with two other people and we are magicians. We’ve come to this place that’s haunted by the spirit of a magician, but at first we’re not aware that the spirit is there (yah, this is plot ripped straight from Melusine, I think). The house has a central courtyard, with a modern fountain and tiled flooring. The fountain is the kind that’s a tall rock and water slides down it. The spirit whispers to us, beckons, from the darkened doorways on all sides of the courtyard.

Now I am guiding three people through the adventure of encountering the magician’s spirit. We are at a table, they have dice. I am explaining that they only have three stats (apparently the game is somewhat homebrew): str, wisdom and one other. All these stats are mental/magic. One is for casting, one is for defense, one is for sensing spells/magic. We are missing one of our players. We recruit one person in the apartment to join us, but I am not happy with his interest level. For one thing, he criticizes me calling one of the mental stats strength. I wish Charlie were here, he’s a good player.