Held by...

Briefly, as I head into the weekend. And the Eugene Fantasy Baseball Draft on Sunday. Dream analysis assistance requested. Feebly. Plodding through the mire on wobbly legs that melt al dente into the clayey muck. Everything chasing me is gaining ground. All too rapidly. Never quite reaching me. I'm only dreaming a bad dream I dream I tell myself in my dream. Is this too but a dream? Wake up! It stopped. Three. Ante meridian. What's that at the front door? Someone's trying to break into my apartment. New panic. Grab the phone. Quick. Fingers and thumbs the size of fists. Why are these buttons so dang tiny? I manage to push them. Not 9-1-1 as I want, but 9-4-9. I am a cataloger afterall.