The Furious Spinner

While the press is gaga over Reagan and the latest celebrity news, David Sirota tells us about five Congressional votes we should have heard about but probably haven't.

I hope you are all doing well. I've been awake since the butt crack of dawn. (Excuse my crudeness, but my true self asserts herself when I haven't had enough sleep.) Mario got up even before then. Everything seems mildly hallucinatory. The air is so clear from the rain that I swear I can see the new light green growth on the pine trees growing on the cliffs across the river on the other side of the Gorge. The kids are getting out of school—early release on Wednesday—and they're running by my house, little bursts of colorful energy. Like butterflies suddenly becoming human.

I want to get my sweetie and crawl back into bed (and sleep) and start the day all over again. I awakened calling out Mario's name because of a terrifying dream. It took enormous effort to call out to him—you know how it is when you are still dreaming and coming awake at the same time. To speak is like walking upstream in water. He was working in his study, and he heard me, answered me, but didn't come to save me. Three times I called. He kept saying, "What?" But I couldn't tell him because I was still drowning in the nightmare, could only say his name. Finally I pulled myself up out of bed and out of the dream.

How can I be this age and still have nightmares? It's so strange.

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