From the couch, I can look at my new clock, which I have wanted for a long time, and which finally went on sale. Enough of a sale that I treated myself. There's also a spoon there for some reason. I'm feverish, but I don't think that's a hallucination. Y'all see it, too, right?
When I ordered, when I got the new lamps, I wondered whether I could fill them. Turns out I can. And will.
It may be the fever, it may be the copious amounts of medicine it has been necessary for me to take, but for the last two nights, my dreams have been weird. The night before last, it was that my children and I were visiting friends of theirs. The friends' apartment had a super-cool layout, and was part of an equally cool complex. We had agreed to go on a picnic, and while the mother and I packed food, and the children played, the father began railing about their noisy and intrusive neighbors. The father was Spencer Tracy.
Last night, or this morning, technically, I dreamt I witnessed a break-in at a grocery store. The police took me, and other witnesses, to this awesome combination restaurant/museum. (?) I wound up at a table with Richard Schiff.
We had a lovely conversation, then I heard someone say, "They're letting you go now, darling."
Hugh and I walked out hand in hand. Not bad.
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