Last night I dreamt I was back in Kosovo, facing the firing squad that actually killed Francesca. It felt very real.
Today I woke up late, very dysfunctional, and had reached a level of angst that went beyond my usual cry for caffeine. Bless my husband for understanding so much. And I do need to find the “secret message” last night’s dream was trying to tell me. It’s been more than 20 years since I’ve had one this startling.
We blew the morning’s regular routine by watching the last episode of season 1 of Line of Duty. Now it’s back to our usual behavior and pick up the pace a bit. I was honestly going to make the bed, but it’s now full of kitties and my husband. So I guess not.
I’m starting to enjoy that excuse a little too much.
I’m planning to finish organizing my homeless shelter notes and get that book finished in another week. The first week of June should be busy.
The rest of the year will be about Mama. I should write about my experience in Kosovo, too…maybe. I wonder. I seriously doubt anyone will believe me.