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Sunday night I dreamed that I fished a buzzing, squirming hummingbird from my left ear. “What are you doing in there?” I asked the hummingbird. “Cleaning out the spiderwebs,” it said. I eased the hummingbird back into my head.
Monday night I dreamed that I was in a van with my friend Dean, delivering a hot chicken fried steak meal to a strange little man. He was both a mafia tough and a diabolic Celtic fairy — a pooka or a leprechaun, maybe. I remember a feeling of mounting terror, as I had secretly eaten half of the food, and Dean was casually deflecting my attempts to abandon him.
Tuesday night I swallowed two antihistamines and drank a glass of water before sleeping and dreamed of nothing.