It hasn’t rained here in three weeks or so, and it’s taking its toll on the plants — and people. I’ve been wishing for a good rainstorm. Nothing catastrophic, of course. Just rain.
I guess that’s why I dreamed about being caught in a flood last night. In the dream, I was back in my old town, in my former third-floor apartment, waking to the sound of rushing water. “That’s peculiar,” I think. “Did someone leave the water running?”
The sound gets even louder, and eventually it seeps into my brain that it’s coming from outside. I run to the window, where I look out on my town inundated by flood, waters that are rising rapidly. The landmarks are all covered by water, it’s disorienting. Holy shit.
A couple of friends come by; they’ve paddled over on an air mattress to get me. I’m watching the water, which by now look like rapids. I’m doubtful that the three of us can stay on the mattress, but what other choices do I have? I think about what it’s like to lose everything and wonder what I’m going to do. Then I wake up.
Whew. And how’s your Monday?
