Cracked rearview

    I know that I drone on and on about my dreams. And I realize that it's hardly an original observation that dreams offer an interesting 52 pickup of what's been going on in your life. Last night I dreamed that I took somebody to dialysis most days (though not that one) but it wasn't my dad. Instead, it was a nice guy I see every month or so at Drinking Liberally. He had to fill out a form detailing everyone he had told that he was on dialysis. (It seemed like this was because they thought dialysis patients were targets for thieves; even in the dream, it seemed weird.) On the form, he said nice things about me, though one was that I'm a gourmand. It being my dream, I knew that he meant well.
    He and his wife (whom I've never met in real life) were at or in the neighborhood of the dialysis facility (which was nothing like the one in real life). I was relieved, because when I had gone by, both his street and that of the dialysis facility were flooded. (So how did I get there? The subconscious does not tell.) In real life, Margaret's yard is subject to flooding, and it's rained a lot lately. But we've gotten by so far.
    I later dreamed that I was walking down the middle of the street in the wee hours in Five Points (a big bar-restaurant part of town) in a kind of Mardi-Gras-with-more-clothes scene. There was no traffic, so we were perfectly safe. (It's been a while since "perfectly safe" has been something you could say about Five Points.) I was a little worried about pickpockets and so walked home.
    Just a lot of neuroses that are similar, but not too similar to the ones I live with in real life. And all apologies to Hootie. (They probably staggered down the middle of the street in Five Points back in the day without having to go to sleep first.)