July 02, 2004
No Rest for the Overwrought
I haven't been sleeping well. I do sleep, it's just not been restful. The workings of a guilty conscience, I guess. My dreams haven't offered peace or resolution. I don't remember them well, just snatches here and there. Getting a virus on my cellphone. My internet browser freezing up; something to do with Autorun and the Russian mob taking control of my computer. I'm in a tiny, elevated room, looking through a doorway, and watching a Madonna concert in the distance. Then I'm looking down through the doorway, and Madonna is smiling up at me beatifically from the floor below. She has dark hair and is dressed in bright filmy gauzes like a Hindu goddess. She's in a wheelchair with light gray tires, like the kind on a dirt bike. She offers her pale, bejeweled hand - in grace, benevolence, forgiveness? - I don't know, but I take her hand into my own, like a supplicant.