hedgehogs, zombies, appetite

I dreamed about an opossum who was dreaming about eating a hedgehog. The opossum woke feeling great satisfaction at having eaten the hedgehog. But it had only been an opossum dream--the hedgehog was fine! I showed the opossum the hedgehog, and laughed. In the dream I felt glad the hedgehog escaped.

Now I feel a little sorry for the opossum.

We were on a  tropical island, and knew zombies were on their way when porkpie hats started washing up on shore. A sure sign of zombies. I kept an eye out for pale and creepy looking people with porkpie hats, though did not see any.
A reporter showed up and asked us about the invasion. "When did you first sense something was seriously wrong?" I said it was the hats. My friend said she sensed something weird was in the wind even before that.
When things start going wrong, sometimes it's tough to look back and pinpoint the exact moment you knew it.

I challenged Matt to interpret these dreams. He said since I am writing metafiction, now I am having metadreams. That was quick thinking on just waking up. I think they have to do with being a vegetarian. On some level, a vegetarian is at war with the natural order. Vegetarianism is an implied critique of the food web as it now stands, and, if there is a creator, an implied critique of the creator. God may prescribe violence to answer appetite, but I reject that violence and tame my appetite.

Still, there may be a lingering sense of ill ease at being out of step with the hungry universe, with all its greedy opossums and flesh-eating zombies.

snowy rittenhouse

faithful

I took my car back to New Jersey to my mechanic-- it's not convenient, but I trust the guy not to rip me off.

That night, I stayed over at my mom's. The next morning, my friend Dwight waited with me at the bus stop. I couldn't face waiting out in the cold for the bus in the morning in my home town, where I never stopped feeling like the new kid. So I asked Dwight to wait with me, even though I know he hasn't been feeling so great lately.

Dwight wrote a book, a really passionate refutation of Calvinist theology. He binds each copy by hand and is selling it on Amazon. He dedicated it to me; this is a big honor for me. I think he sees me as one of the casualties of Calvinism, and it's true my faith has been stymied by the idea of an all-powerful, all-controlling God who allows suffering.

Writing the book exhausted Dwight. I've read of authors who write their magnum opus, then just collapse. Calvin has taken his toll on both of us.

Dwight's wife drove us to the bus stop and the three of us waited in the van. We waited twenty minutes; they kept the car running the whole time. Watching Dwight and Marcy's gas budget turn into fumes, I really regretted having asked them to do this for me. It wasn't even that cold.

Dwight has been selling some of his own collection of books on e-Bay to bring in a little money. His illustrated edition of Pilgrim's Progress brought seventy bucks. Dwight is self-employed and hasn't been able to be at his shop because of his exhaustion. When I learned Dwight was selling off his library it really got to me. My books are my treasure. Dwight and Marcy were on their way to the post office after waiting with me; some of the packages were on the back seat beside me.

The bus came and I took off for the city, which, thanks to the evening news, Dwight believes is filled with desperate criminals and the continual sound of gunfire. Dwight and Marcy really love me. I have some friends to whom I feel like I give back an equal amount, but Dwight is so giving and so encouraging, I am always in the red with him.

I left my gloves in the van; Dwight and Marcy mailed them to me when they sent off the books.

goodbye knuckles

I'm really going to miss you, buddy.

You had a simple life of eating and climbing.

And for a guy with no face, you had a lot of personality.

I'm dedicating this a-capella high school version of a Sufjan song to you.