The cold still lingers--perhaps it's a particularly virulent, bird-based strain--which means sleep is fleeting.
Which means last night's dreams were doubly weird.
1. My family is hiking in a strange forest, dead trees stacked like cordwood along the trail, a sun and alpine lake glowing red like cranberries. The path descends into an abandoned Forest Service cabin full of bunk beds.
2. As I'm emptying a dryer at a laundromat, the clerk behind the counter flips a switch. Bulletproof glass rises and armor plating swivels into place. "It's a hit," the clerk shouts, and some dude comes busting through the front door, gun blazing. The clerk whips out a .45 and shoots him in the chest.
3. I'm on the roof of some kind of mall, sniper rifle aimed at some dignitary who's sitting at a table at an outdoor food court on a lower level. Quick, clean kill. He slumps over. My radio squawks, "Get the Kennedy team in place." Moments later, a group of dark suits with walkie-talkies wheels out the corpse on a gurney.
4. Having landed an interview for a "president" position at a law firm, I'm beside myself with excitement, so much so that I've forgotten to wear a suit and tie. I walk into the office, chatting up the secretary, who seems surprised that I haven't learned anything about the firm until now. "Here," she says, and hands me a yearbook. "You'll be our student body president if you land the job." Confused, I look at a picture of some feathered-hair golden boy, the prez from decades past, and see that the salary is only $6500 annually. I am stricken with disappointment.
5. I live in a bizarre house with wooden floors that can be removed, like trap-doors, to reveal extra storage spaces. In one, a disassembled wooden pipe organ sits, and I decide to try and put it back together and see if it works.