I slept for 11 hours last night. It was a shock to wake up to daylight.
I dreamt. Exhaustingly.
I dreamed I was trying to play a game, but I didn’t know the rules so it wasn’t any fun. I couldn’t figure out how to do it. I found the instruction manual at last, but it was in Russian and I couldn’t understand it. I kept looking and looking until I found the English instructions. Then I dreamed something else.
A bridge collapsed while I was on it. I couldn’t get off the bridge. Rather, it was very difficult. Half my body was dangling from the broken edge, and I was trying to pull it back up. I was trying to reach for something—things that had been in the car—and trying to pull myself back off the edge at the same time. It was possible, but difficult. The dreamed changed then. I never got off the bridge.
I was looking through my wardrobe—a dream wardrobe, I don’t have anywhere near that many clothes now. There were two sets of some things. The same dress in two different sizes, for example. I wanted to try to things on to see what to keep, what to toss. I was somehow in a department store. They were my clothes, but I was waiting in line for a dressing room. You know how things are in dreams. There were men’s clothes in my wardrobe: two of some of those as well. I thought of getting rid of them. I don’t wear men’s clothes anymore. A man came out of a dressing room in a shirt he was trying on. I said, “I used to have a shirt like that. You should get it. It’s a nice shirt.”
And many, many other things happened that now no longer make anynsense. Not even enough sense to narrate.