Last night, disturbance on the ocean of dreams: in real life, I had a massive mold exposure in a close, unventilated classroom where I am to work with children one day a week, starting next week. I may not be able to teach there unless they move me to another place in the building. I had a mild nosebleed the next day, tingling in my toes and fingers, a rash in the crook of my elbows, the backs of my knees, and my palate swelled up. Drank tons of water, got in touch with my doctor, tried to get to bed early.
Tossed last night as if by waves, I sank and rose in sleep, then dreamed of that bridge where I meet spirits, like a way station for them to come to me and say hello. It is an old-fashioned wooden sidewalk in good repair, with a railing and old-fashioned globe streetlights. It fronts an expanse of smooth sand, an ocean that is dark violet-blue and calm with gentle waves and a fringe of tidewater. In my dream, it is often a little bit foggy. I saw the actor Alan Rickman on this bridge; I was napping at the very time he passed away, and I saw him coming towards me
