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Thanks be to the gods or goddesses or whomever, I am having dreams once again.
Last night in vivid midnight Technicolor I relived an incident where, behind a furnace as terrifying as the one in “The Shining,” a friend and I once felt each other up during a church-sponsored event.
In the dream, he was just as hard as he was in reality, although in the dream, I turned around and ground into him, whereas in real life, I merely circled my bottom demurely against his crotch.
It was a very nice re-introduction to dreaming.
Later, my happily-dreaming self visited Circe, who was suffering from a haunting in her house. The spirit was not the least bit malicious; it spent its time cheerfully moving belongings from one room to the next. This made things damn difficult as I was attempting to change my clothes. I took off my old shirt and reached for a clean one, only to find that it had migrated to another room.
I had to clutch a towel around myself and chase down articles of clothing throughout the house, which was much more spacious than you’ve described it, Circe. Your children had a wing all to themselves! The hall was like a bowling alley! The living room was colossal!
I finally caught up to my clothes (most of my clothes) in the dining room, where many kittens were snuggling up on them. I threw them on quickly (the clothes, not the kittens) so the spirit couldn’t move them again.
Dreaming is wonderful.
As often happens, it was impossible to realize how bad it had gotten until I was out of the worst of it. Now it’s better. It’s getting better. Colors are brighter. The sky is bluer. The air smells fresher. I have strength.
Thanks be to the gods or goddesses or modern medicine or whatever.
See, not even the tiniest hint of whining.
