
Difficult dreams last night. I’d intercepted a message, a text of some sort. Basically the United States had been surreptitously attacked and was buying it’s continued existence (it’s possible that the EARTH had been attacked and was buying it’s continued existence) by annihilating whole social classes – basically anyone “worth” less than a million dollars was going to be culled to make room for our new rulers. It was going to happen about a week from the message I’d intercepted and I had a hope to escape it, but not much of one…
But it was a recurring dream, and I’d escaped it once before through the cunning use of a particular sequence of numbers and the cooperation of Kristen (in a stunning, flowing white dress perhaps stolen from Zack’s [of the Bella Birds] dream) but this time Kristen just wanted to give in. Have a great week and give in.


And so I spent a week in the dream trying to convince her otherwise, seeing other people slowly hear the news and fight or give in, the world going to Hell. Almost as our time is up, Kristen decides she wants to Live after all and I wake up suddenly realizing I’d forgotten the sequence of numbers and that there was no hope because I’d forgotten and we were going to die because I’d forgotten…
I’m feeling a decade on the road today. Ha, it hasn’t even been quite nine years yet! But my back is aching a bit and my heart is aching a bit and I’ve got that feeling of wanting to be in my OWN bed and squeeze my OWN cat (well, Amy’s cat) and use my OWN wireless…
Well, we go home tomorrow. And though we’re only home for about 40 hours before we’re back on the road, it’ll be a necessary recharge.
Always running from one thing to another, I couldn’t wait to get back on the road, at the moment I can’t wait to get back home – and yet I’m pretty excited about Pittsburgh too.
Looking at the calendar at the moment’s a little intimidating. A lot of things are springing faster than I want them too, not least of which is Harrison Ford’s 70th birthday. You know how important that is, don’t you?
Well – off to kill time in Boston (real Boston, not Sommerville, not Cambridge, not Jamaica Plains) and then Pesky J. Nixon and Hugh McGowan!