This will be a short post because I'm tired and headachy, again, and am meanwhile girding my loins for a long drive to Massachusetts and back . . . though of course I'm excited to see Tom's show and the various friends and relations who will be there to enjoy him and it. Probably the headache will be gone by then, as will the residue of the hours I spent last night semi-asleep on the couch, where I dreamed the ominous and shadowy plot twists of an unmemorable drama. I seem to recall that I wore gray and was either filled with foreboding or calmly shrugging off disbelief at having to substitute a piece of string for my car's steering wheel. I did not care for the preponderance of menacing invisible people who were lurking in that underlit castle ballroom, nor did I understand why the homeowners had wallpapered over all their fireplaces and then sloppily painted the paper in various bright toddler colors. But at least I didn't have to go back to high school and retake the 1982 math test I'd forgotten to turn in. Nor did I recollect that I was married to my junior prom date. So I suppose I should be grateful.