February 17, 2025

Weary of posting philippics against Trump. They sound brittle and shrewish even to myself. Clearly I am not the one designated to make this right. 

Complex and joyful dreams before waking. I’d taken a long sabbatical from teaching, during which time I’d bought a tiny airplane, the size of a Volkswagen bug, and learned to fly it. Over the rolling fields we’d go, sometimes over bare golden grass, sometimes over great herds of giraffe and whatnot. I decided to go back to school. I’d been gone so long I didn’t recognize it, now laid out like a carnival in a series of tents. I found Kirk and asked him to get me an office. He was so happy to see me he embraced me, and then began to babble happily but incoherently. I wandered away and came to a sealed tent. I managed to open the tent, inside of which children had been kept in captivity. They ran to me and embraced my legs, crying, “He will get us out.” I woke. I suppose that the part of me that stayed in that world got them out.