The way past journalysis is poetic.

I plunged down so deep in delayed afternoon sleep that I had a dream inside a dream, and remembered it and told it to someone.

I was somewhere like a cabin and watching TV cuddled, with her, and with someone I barely knew in high school. It was so safe and peaceful. I drifted off and dreamed that:

There were no Jedi left, and the last lightsaber was held by some monks.

I was committed to having it. So I approached the mountain dojo and cut the door open with my regular sword, expecting to have to fight for it.

But the Abbess came out and simply placed it on the ground near me. It looked like a fat flashlight.

I kicked it hard to the corner of the big main dojo, to make sure it wasn’t a bomb. It didn’t explode, but only glowed green. I retrieved it, and tried it out for a few thrusting and parrying moves.

The Abbess said that there was one more test to make sure I was the One. Was I ready?

I nodded silently in my badass way.

She reached up to a shelf and brought down a game of Operation, from the sixties.

My test was to remove the heart piece, without setting off the buzzer and being disqualified.

Long story short, I did it, quickly and efficiently. The lightsaber was mine by right.

I woke, and told it.

Other things happened. I watched a truck hook up from high above a mountain road.

I edged off a road into gravel, going too fast because a dumb cop had parked in the road, and the hard swerve ejected me from the car so that I flew dozens of feet up in the air, landing safely–this was a classic flying dream, just embedded in a lot more plot than usual.

Other things happened.

I woke at nine in the evening, a little dazed.

I fed the cat.

I spilled with vigor.