I forgot to tell you about my dream;

I had two little girls with me, one about age three, the other even younger, maybe one, one-and-a-half. I was carrying the three year old, holding the hand of the other one. Trying to get them through this field. Finally figured out that it would be easier to hold the smaller one and run with the older. That's right, running, through a field of tall grass. Wind coming at us from behind. Running from something. The something that was making the wind.

Next scene: I'm sitting on the front lawn of a house in the country. And this sleek, beautiful animal comes up to me. I don't recognize it's shape; my focus is off in the dream-- until it is practically in my face. It's a goat, with a gorgeous silver-white coat, and those crazy devil-eyes. Little tufts of black hair around its ears. It sits right in my lap and I begin to pet it as it stares at me with those eyes. That's when I notice the long, raised crooked pink scar on the back of its neck. It doesn't look like an accident, it looks like a surgery.

Beats me. Trying to save some little parts of myself? What is the wind? The field? And what's up with the goat? Who do I know that's a Capricorn? And what do you take out of (or put into) a goat anyway?

Mysterious.

I've got enough library books to last me two weeks. I'm sure I'll blow through them before next Monday. It's my version of getting drunk. I'm tuning out so I don't have to think about my heartache.

The fact that I have done nothing wrong, so there is nothing RIGHT I can do to make it all better.

That's mysterious too, in its own way.

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