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Tuesday, Feb. 04, 2003 / 1:19 p.m. ~Infamous Trains With Loads of Rain and Windy Freight~ Last night it was still 63 degrees at 11:00, so I slept with the window open in my bedroom. A huge storm popped up in the middle of the night, loud pounding rain, heavy winds, and I jumped up to close the window, 4:00 a.m. I couldn't go back to sleep for a long time. Instead, I lay in bed waiting to hear that 'freight train' sound people describe when referring to tornadoes. I kept thinking I was hearing it, or hearing it begin to head my way, the infamous train with its load of rain and windy freight, but I never did. Gladys bounced off me, still glad to be alive after her horror of Sunday afternoon, her little fainting spell and cookies tossing. When I finally was able to sleep I only dreamed, restless rain-soaked dreams. I was going into space, on a spaceship, and I think George Clooney was on board (our Captain?). I had a love interest, on board, but I don't recall who. What I do recall is more and more people were hopping on board with us, and I knew there wouldn't be enough room, nor supplies, for all of us. I had sleeping quarters upstairs, like a loft, with a double bed, and when I went up to get in bed there were people all around, in chairs, like it was suddenly a theatre. The bed was spread out over some seats and there was no room for me at all. I was angry, feeling very territorial, and not just a little put upon. A door opened to another theatre, or auditorium, and it too was filled with 'stowaways'. I had to point this out to whoever was captaining our vessel. "There are people everywhere, and there is only room for us", "Us" being those who were actually the astronauts assigned to the ship. It went on for a while, noticing all the 'extras' on board, trying to alert those who could make a difference, get them off our ship. I don't believe we'd taken off yet, but I'm not sure. It went on and on, really, and there is more detail, but it's relatively muddy now. It was a conglomeration of recent thoughts and images, the astronauts, obviously, the famous dead ones, and watching the privileged bachelorettes going on lavish dates with our Joe Millionaire, in a private jet, and maybe all the loudness of work, all the people, the phone calls. My subconscious is never too hard to figure out. I'm having trouble clearing my throat, talking is difficult, which sucks because I'm having to do it all day long. Work is busy, but nothing compares to yesterday. Tonight is "24", and I look forward to that. Cost of the War in Iraq
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