Mad, vivid, disjointed dreams in which my mother featured as a mad serial killer cannibal, hunting people down on her island, and my father featured as a camp Armistead Maupin-type, picking up bears in the forest. Not the grizzly kind, either. And I was driving down the Trans-Canada highway in a stolen car.
And when I woke up, I could barely (can barely) open my eyes. I feel utterly groggy and sleepy and bleargh.
