Tuesday, February 26, 2013


I had a long series of dreams last night.  In one an emotionally extravagant friend of mine came through the window like a good witch, bringing many people with her, some of them quite old, and speaking of transcendence.

Then, my son was an infant. He was very quiet and serious and suddenly I realized I hadn't breastfed him all day.  I wasn't sure if I could, but when he suckled I could see the milk coming, although I couldn't feel it and my breasts were their usual size and not engorged at all.  He did not seem ravenous, but merely performed his part dutifully. 

A previous night, he was grown up and some calamity had befallen him.  As I rushed to his aid I thought thankgod it's not the worst that has happened. 

I hate waking up.

Sunday, February 17, 2013

"Write what makes you happy"

That's the advice someone gave me when I told him I was having trouble with the novel I had started.  I scoffed at him that that wouldn't make very good art, but he just nodded wisely, as if that didn't matter.

And, of course, it doesn't.  Only I don't want to be happy, so I can't write that.  But I can write what's on my mind and I finally started doing that.  As much as I like reading fiction, creating it does not seem to give me any satisfaction, perhaps because I'm not good at it.  Fortunately, I can always tell bad writing when I see it.  I just can't always help it.

Thursday, February 7, 2013


My son's aunt had a dream about him - that he was surrounded by girls seeking his attention.  In the dream she thought that wherever he is, he is popular.

Last night I dreamed that while I was fully aware of his death, I was with an old friend and we were trying to see if he would appear while she was around.  We were in the neighborhood where he was born and we didn't know at what age he would appear.  Then I saw him playing with a group of kids, around age 4-5 and I remembered him also being there in adult form, but when only his father and I were around.