Somnolence--Fission--Icicles

A while back I had a dream which frightened the hell out of me at the time (I suppose that's why I remember it), but on closer inspection was largely uplifting. The action opened with a good-old-fashioned nuclear explosion, a commonly occurring motif of my sleep. "They", whoever they were, destroyed downtown Toronto. I watched it all from the window of an apartment building, just waiting for the shockwave to hit me, feeling a physically crushing loss of, a sudden reversal of everything I had worked for, and so on and on into infinity. Except there was no shockwave, and we had lost nothing. Later, in conversation with a stolid man, he said that nobody was working those large downtown office buildings when the bombs fell, so there was nothing to cry about. Grocery vendors continued to peddle their wares, shouting at passers-by to buy their mangoes or cherries or cucumbers, burly women with jugs of soup continued to sit on the sidewalks, likewise peddling their wares with motherly twinkles in their eyes, snowflakes continued to swirl, caught in updrafts on arterial roads, businessmen on the evening trains continued on with small-talk and light deal-making and I was free to walk outside where the air was crisp and I never even once considered the fallout. There was more danger of death in collapsing icicles than from the collapse of society.

Dreams are silly things.

Thought for the moment: "dance if you can, even if you suck. Likewise, sing and write and cook."