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I’m glad the night is over.  Better to rise in the dark to herd my thoughts, to write, to read, anything but try and lay still when it does me no good.

It was the dream that had no intention of ending, for no matter how many times I got up last night it returned. Makes me question my sanity–did I truly did get up many times last night? How can a dream pick up where I tried to leave it?

And it was my father, of course.  Driving. I was a little girl. He was driving the car in the dark, and I was listening silently. He was lecturing me for using the wrong word in a sentence. He was so annoyed, displeased, unhappy with the fact that I could misuse the word “opaque.” Why is he still annoyed with me?  Why does it still matter?  Will I always be that little girl driven in the dark, destination unknown, by an aggravated male?  Why is the father of Me annoyed with the little girl of Me for misusing a word (though I am not convinced that I did.)  Aye, there’s the rub. Who is right, who is wrong, and does it really matter?

How does one heal a little dream that feels like a stinging cut in my palm?  I refuse to make this dream more than it is, but I am curious about the word “opaque” and what it means to me right now, so I will explore that idea (along with “transformation”) today.

The wind blows southeasterly, and it will get stronger later this afternoon.  The Eisenhower returns to port today, and I watched all the cars queue up in the dark waiting to see their loved ones gone all these months.  In the bay, little wavelets lift up their white heads and say, “What? Oh no, no no no, that’s just too cold for me!” then duck their heads right back down into the cold, dark water, pushed along by the wind.  As for all the rest, I’ll leave it opaque as can be.