today is headache and the kind of sinus pain that calls for a grapefruit spoon.

today is recovery, the feet back in step, hands in hands and over skin.

last night, tears, kitten food, cat food, petrol.

last night was time and airplanes.

last night someone whistled at utte as i drove by...or were they whistling at me -- all made up and ready...for bed.

last night i dreamt:
i am in a record store...i walk up to the back counter. as i wait for service i notice three sticks carved and painted red, brown, yellow and green like abstract snakes. i rearrange the snakes to a more interesting and stylistic positioning.

i realize that this is a combination record store/pharmacy and the pharmacist comes over to assist me. i tell him that i am having pressure and pain behind my right eye...

(the same pain i am having now, actually)

he pulls back my eyelids and pokes his fingers around in my eye, sliding my lens back and forth and squeezing my whites. i see everything up-close as if through his eyes.

he tells me that there is a large, abnormal pocket of air behind my lens which will soon lead to blindness. this abnormality will somehow spread to the other eye in a matter of days. he gives me some pills for my pain and i leave.

the pills have immediate and amazing effect on my system. as i walk around the block from the store i see the most beautiful things...saddened that this may be my last time to see them. people from work pick me up in a large traveling van, mr.man, his secretary, the crazybirdladee, gorillagrrl, poopalata, the leaderofthepack and others are there. i am tripping heavily at this point and trying to explain about the medication and blindness to no avail. we are traveling up to thelandofclevers for to give a knowledemanagerie presentation.

the dream shifts as i walk and i am being stalked by a very polite, tall, long-haired man. he is friendly and handsome, we walk together a ways. he confesses eventually that he has been sent to kill me, pulling out his small, silver shiny pistol from his pocket. the pistol is wrapped in a plastic fruit bag, clear with some writing or advertisement on it.

i grab the pistol and shoot him in the chest at about a two foot range. the gun shoots out a spray of BBs which impale him head to foot. some roll off of his clothes, but others burrow down into his skin.

i ask him if it hurts...he leans forward and i take him into my arms. there is no blood. yes, he sighs. i put the gun in his hand and point it at my chest. shoot me, i say, it is what you were hired to do.

i wake.

at work, we just had lunch...and of course, working for a grocery store chain, one talks about food constantly, even in the corporate offices. today's talk: how to make things with bacon grease, such as fried noodles (spaghetti), chili, pigs in a blanket, pigs' feet...etc. quite the healthy conversation.

i believe the pig foot time coincided with the time i went to go wash my luncheon bowl...eep.

the funny thing about talking food is that the meatman, also known as theleaderofthepack, talks about meat with such succulent reverence it is almost like he is talking about a woman. i ask him meat questions all of the time...such fun! (as well as informative -- i know more now about cuts of meat, sausage, meat standards and the like that i ever cared to, but dang it is interesting.)