I heard no alarm, but I’m unaccountably awake at 9:30 in the morning anyway.

I dreamed deep of again being the new librarian without portfolio. The work part came first. I was being observed, on the reference desk, but after answering one reference question with spectacular finesse, my Observer was satisfied and left me on my own. She said something like, you’re good, and I said yes, I know how to storm. It had been a meteorological question.

Mostly though it was about side conversations with my new colleagues.

To one friend I explained the theory of dividing the state’s population into Foresters and Extractors. My febrile dream brain made this whole theory up. I could tell it to you now, but it’s not that insightful or great. Pretty good for something made up inside a dream though.

Then in a group someone said that they felt sometimes like protesting by laying down in the street was something they should do–why not? I said, well, when you get to that point and are ready to do it for real, you let me know. I’m with you.

I think the protest was mostly about the racial divide and the southern wall.

Just before I got off the clock for the day, and also woke up, I was in the cookbook section for green chili recipes.

While I was typing that I remembered another earlier intense dream.

It started out on a road at night and not being able to see the road, but not letting that stop my drive. This is a recurring theme. Finally I pulled over and realized that I was out at the far end of Gurley Street where it goes to dirt. Gurley Street is real, but not the ending in dirt part.

As soon as I stopped a car pulled up and the people in it started diagnosing the problems with my lights as if there was one.

It seems that some of my fuses were ‘flashlighted’. This meant the liquid in them was almost completely dried up.

I know fuses don’t have liquid. Even so, it was a marvel to the man at the fuse store later.

There were a few other vague parts out there at the end of the pavement, mostly having to do with large parts of cars people had dumped. There was a Lambo with gull wing doors out there, just the shell, and I considered taking it home to make into a planter.

I would have, if it would have been in slightly better shape.

Consider it metaphor.