It's been a very busy week. Lots of tasks involving God Damsel and No Tell Motel. Luckily yoga classes started up again. I usually felt good after a pilates session, but I feel spectacular after yoga class. Something I don't remember feeling years ago when I first started.

My psyche is busy dreaming poets, most notably Rauan Klassnik.

The other day I finished a book that described the way our psyche makes decisions. It was explained as a bunch of people (of both genders, different ages, varying backgrounds and interests) sitting around a table, like a committee. The ego gives certain people's comments more weight and consideration. Some people are very forthright in their opinions and others sit, quiet and ignored, moving their agenda along behind the scenes in our unconscious (forgetfulness, easily avoidable mistakes, psychological symptoms like phobias, etc.).

I wondered, how does my psychic committee work? Then I went to sleep and dreamed:

I'm at a table with other people, including Rauan. We have to decide whether or not we're going to enter into some kind of challenge. It's four parts with deadly consequences. For the first challenge we need to select a particular button on a dog's collar. If we don't agree to accept the challenge, the dog blows up. If we do, we have to press the "accept" button on the collar. Rauan is participating in the challenge, but I also suspect that he's the one behind it. The committee agrees to press the accept button. The dog lives.

The second challenge is timed. Two committee women are controlling a cursor on a screen. Our task is to decide between two buttons. One button is to continue the challenge, the other is to quit. If we quit, a well-known poet blogger will be blown up. The decision is made last minute although each woman selected a different button. I'm not sure if that's an accident or intentional--meaning I wasn't sure if they had different opinions or just weren't working well together. We decide to save the poet blogger although it seems likes the button was clicked a second after the deadline. Now I'm wondering if perhaps the dog and poet blogger might not have really exploded. Maybe Rauan is just using the threat of explosion as an incentive for us to take this all seriously.

Before we begin the third challenge a bunch of plain-clothed agents come in. I tell Rauan that they've set their sights on him. They take him into another room for questioning.

* * *

The next day I dreamed:

Rauan is driving a convertible in Virginia (Leesburg). It's snowing. He gets out and lets me drive. The driver's seat is full of snow. My body doesn't fit the mold that Rauan's body made. I'm having a difficult time reaching the pedal or finding the wheel.

* * *

But don't worry, today I dreamed I got a brand new car that I managed not to wreck.

So all is good.