NOT HUNGRY . . .

I'm never eating a meal late at night before I sleep again.

After some deeply unsatisfying pasta, I dreamt that I worked for the National Security Agency. I and my coworkers operated out of a nondescript office building in Connecticut, and set ourselves forth as office supply wholesalers. We wrote an anti-terrorist newsletter on the side. Al Qaeda somehow saw past our cover and discovered our true identities. Then, instead of coming to get us, they decided to target my father. I dreamt that I called my dad at work and told him not to leave work until I came to get him, but of course he wouldn't listen and told me he'd be leaving at the same time and would see me at home for dinner. I couldn't tell him that he'd probably be killed walking from work to his car. So I had to spend the entire day at my "office supply wholesaler" office fretting about how I would keep my father from getting shot to death by terrorists.

The even more awful thing was that unlike other nightmares, in which my conscious is somehow awake and able to reassure me that it's just a dream (albeit a bad one), this dream came with no such assurances -- my conscious and subconscious were one in the hellish world. I really thought my dream was real. And when my alarm clock rang this morning, I thought that was the dream. Weird.

***

OBSERVATION DU JOUR . . .

The women Olympic marathon runners sure run fast.