Reading: Barbara Kingsolver, The Poisonwood Bible

Moving: By the time I finished writing, I didn't have time to walk. Excuses excuses, c'est moi

28 September 2001: Dream

Well, I'm back. This morning when the alarm rang, I switched it off with a curse and lay down again. But only for an instant! Really! And then I got up and took my dream journal from the nightstand drawer and got up. So today my poor excuse not to walk was that I spent thirty minutes writing this dream. I don't think I have ever dreamed about this woman before, and I haven't seen her in at least eight years and maybe nine, and I realized after our acquaintance ended that it was only that and we had our men in common rather than each other, but she was still really groovy and I was glad to talk to her, even if only in my head.

(I've already made all the jokes about how that's how I usually talk to anyone, even awake. Thank you very much.)

Hmm. Thinking about her, I did a web search. The things you do find online. Zounds. Bwahaha. Glory be. Sniffle-choke-snort.

Moving on.

I so love Poisonwood Bible. That is all. No, I can't even talk about that.

One of the things I will always miss about SEBB is the connection I felt with her. Perhaps wrongly, so quickly after so long apart, but I did. Neither of us had been able to dissect certain events with someone who Understood, for ten years. And now, after reading what I just found, I want to point and jeer and say omigawd was that nearly me? but there is no one who Understands. Sometimes I feel like I escaped from a cult.

Sometimes I don't know that someone who understands actually does. In France, I finally told Nisou about something that had stung. I was going to not tell her; for years I had not told her. But if someone's your best friend, she is, and that's that. And she is. She understood.

There's just way too much backstory to explain this one though. This one I should keep to myself.

Bu it's always fun to confess. Today on my chair was the gossip sheet from inside the front cover of Parade, with an item circled about the next Jean Auel book. Shelters of Stone, perhaps because she so loved the alliteration of Plains of Passage. I knew who had given it to me, and I felt bad I didn't tell her myself when, last month sometime, I found on a forsaken fanfic site the text of an article from USA Today last May announcing the publication, then a year off, of the next book.