a brief one. I dreamed about bugs. Triumphantly about bugs, in the weirdest way, since I kept discovering them and announcing to people that I had done so as though such discoveries were forms of immeasurable success.
One in particular was quite large and round and beautiful (if still scary) and lived inside the closet, on the door. It didn’t seem to be afraid or to run away no matter how many times I opened the door and pointed it out to others.
In the dream, too, as the bugs were everywhere, I was entering into sentimental truces with everyone I’ve ever argued with.
There is clearly some sort of subconscious metaphorical analysis going on here, but I don’t want to know what it is. I don’t want to know anything in particular today.