As usual, the little snippets I can recall from my dreams usually leave me a bit curious and confused. In this instance, not unlike Dante’s Sisyphus, dreamland shackled me with my own never ending ordeal of putting a rat back in its cage. I must admit the act of cramming a rodent into a box seems a far cry rolling a boulder uphill for all eternity. The only problem in my dream stemmed from the rat's cage being part of some weird six-story high-rise-style rat condo, but instead of six individual doors, there was just one really tall door that covered all six cages. So when I would open the door to replace the escaped convict, five other rats would come crawling out. I could never get all six back in to their cages. No matter how hard I tried or how much I juggled them, I always had one left. Finally, one of those weasely little fuckers bit me on the hand.

I woke up and realized I was sleeping on my arm funny, causing it to be numb from the shoulder down. As I lay in bed letting the circulation return, it occurred to me that I should have used some kind of gas to knock all the rats out, making them easy pickings (the idea of buying cages with individual doors was apparently beyond the realm of possibility to my drowsy brain). Then I decided that it probably wasn't healthy to be thinking about rats or about gassing them, and went back to a fitful sleep.


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