I’m still angry when I finally force myself to open my eyes. How long have I laid here, half-dreaming, still having an argument with – well since it was a dream – apparently I’m arguing with my own brain.

And exactly who wins such an argument?

When if I am “right” but unkind, it is not good for my spirit on either the giving or receiving end.

True to some extent even if it hadn’t all been a dream.

My own internal flotsam churning, and yet it lingers for a while after waking.

Ugh. Dreams.

Ugh. Small hours of a Monday morning.


# In real time it’s a holiday here. At the time it wasn’t. It was a work Monday. Bleah.

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