I had the weirdest night of dreams in history last night. In what seemed like one long twist and turn, so detailed that I can no longer remember even a third of it, I was transported across the landscape of my life and back again. I wish I�d put it on paper as soon as I woke up, because now it seems as if I can only see it if I�m not looking directly at it. Dreamscape as eclipse.

Although I woke up disconcerted and headachy, my mood has improved immensely thanks to these shoes, which were mistakenly sent to my husband when he ordered something else:

Miraculously they are just my size. Since childhood I have had a complete fetish about red shoes. If fashion sense were not a governing force (and lets face it, sometimes its not) I would probably have no other color in my shoe collection. Nothing makes me as happy as a pair of red shoes.

I�m heading downtown for a stint at the Newberry this afternoon, so I�ll have a good chance to try them out. I�ll be burying myself in dusty periodicals from the first decade of the twentieth century today. I plan on closing the joint and then heading to book group to discuss a book I haven�t yet read (Pat Barker�s Double Vision, thanks to a comedy of errors on the part of the local branch of a chain bookstore which kept losing my order. I finally got the book this morning and while there is some possibility I might be able to finish it on the train ride in, I�m not sure I�d pick up enough for a discussion reading at that speed. Plus I�d miss out on quality work time � the train is my favorite office.

Aside from the delinquent book, the other mildly aggravating thing about today�s trip is that I can�t actually walk from the Newberry to my friend�s house. Although they are only about two miles apart, between points A and B lies Cabrini Green and thus I am doomed to ride the Division St. bus at Rush Hour on a hot day. But at least my feet will be happy.

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