dystopic morning

There’s nothing I like better than a grey rainy morning when I don’t have to leave the house and can putter around with books and coffee and a sleeping dog.
Too bad the world is going to hell in a handbasket.
I asked my mom, who just called, about terrorist threats on the NY transit system, (she lives in NY), and she was like, “Oh, I didn’t see any cops at Penn Station. They’re always saying there’s terrorist attacks, I can’t keep up.”
I, on the other hand, am apparently subconsciously traumatized. I dreamt last night the Earth was being blown up and would no longer be inhabitable, so we were all being deported to another planet. I didn’t get to take my clothes, but somehow fought my way through a very complicated building to my room (?), where I had stored Nero, since I refused to leave the planet without him. Most of my dystopically-centered dreams always have this same plotline, which involve me caring about nothing but my dog. So much for the subconscious.
Um, yeah, happy Thanksgiving.

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