The Stars and the Cookie Jar

Oh, such breakdown. I fell asleep at work today. Not even in the chair with my head on the desk; on a tipped-sideways ream of paper with my head propped on the cash door of the safe. And I came home and slept, too...

Would probably still be sleeping except for the fire-ant bites. Most of you are unfamiliar with fire ants. 'Red' ants, sure; but they bite without provocation and the immediate physical response to a bite is a burning, watery welt. I have these all over my toes and ankles, from going about in sandals.

They're about as endearing as kudzu.

I dreamed I was in a random busaras in Ireland, asleep leaning on my pack. I mean, I dreamed of being asleep. My only connection to the real world was the worn-out Aeneid in my hand.

And her hand was on my neck.

Strange how after so many years that's what makes me relax, and let go, and allow everything to be all right. Because I dreamed of going back to sleep, in the middle of this loud public place with awful lighting and street people; and it was as beautiful and simple as falling down through water.

Rar. Where did I put Aeneas? Here boy. Here here here.

Awake now.

Shoot me and stab me, I can't tell if he's looking at hangings or wall frescoes -- it seems to me to be painted work --I thought it was that -- I went with that. Enjoy. This is from Book I. Not very literal. Mea culpish, sort of.