So last night at plumtreeblossom’s, I had an odd dream about sewing needles. (Or they might have been pins, but in that case they didn’t have pinheads.) They were burrowing around in somebody’s shirt collar like worms in dirt. In the dream, that wasn’t strange or disquieting; that was just what needles did, what they were supposed to do, and it showed that the ecosystem of his shirt was healthy.

(Had a lovely, lovely date, and finally got to watch Jefferson in Paris, which I’ve had out from GreenCine for ages. Also had the world’s hugest takeout order from the Midwest Grill — we were expecting two entree-sized portions; instead we got two catering platters.)