I'm pretty burnt out right now, so to prevent any trashed hotel rooms or other benders, I'm not doing anymore readings until the fall.
My friend David was in town this weekend and gave me a really cool book, To Sleep, Perchance to Dream: A Commonplace Book from the Folger Shakespeare Library. I'm learning a lot.
A dreame is nothing els but a bubling scum or froath of the fancie, which the day hath left undigested: or an after feast made of the fragments of idle imaginations.
Thomas Nash, The Terrors of the Night
Sounds like somebody doesn't like what his psyche is trying to tell him.
This weekend I dreamed of an archeological dig (and deciding to homeschool Gideon so I could bring him along), speaking on who gets away with making butt thumbing threats, having to answer questions on religion when buying plane tickets, not being able to speak because my mouth is full of hard & sticky gum, separate tables, a Turkish beach vacation, pictures in my bikini from that vacation being posted on the Harriet blog, a man's sex reassignment surgery, knitting and iguanas.