I've been having nightmares.
Wolves at the door. Killer at the door. Problems seemingly brewing at the service and me, scared shitless and moving too slow. Moving too slow. Moving too slow.
In one dream I call 911 and realize I can't get through. So I call my dad.
"Dad!!" I say, when he answers the phone. "You have to call 911 for me. I can't get through!!"
And he says, "Marya, you got yourself into this mess...."
The waking question the last two mornings has been, what mess have I gotten myself into? I don't know and I'm afraid to find out. Meanwhile, I feel like I need to make a list of all dangling issues and participles.