I dreamed me. In the dream I was who I am at the age I am searching for something I did not know what until I found myself as an infant with a white blanket drawn up to my shoulders, lying on my back, arms in the air wiggling my fingers at myself as I bent over myself, and we touched our finger tips, and I felt a peaceful joy.

This morning I had a dream that seems to recur every few years, wherein I find that Frank didn't really die. This time he had moved to San Francisco. I was in the hospital or something and found him on facebook. I contacted him and told him I really needed him to come home. Then he was here. Very happy to see him, gave him a big hug. He looked twenty years older but well, and just like Frank. I felt very sad that he had missed the entire upbringing of our son, and I knew he was going to go back to San Francisco, to a life he had built without us.

I dreamed there was an Eileen Myles coloring book.

I dreamt the world was ending and everyone was frantically looking for safety while I ran from office to office at Naropa to get signatures on paperwork.