Between blotch and blok

 So, I'm sure I'm not feeling the stress of planing the next few weeks in these already difficult times. Not a bit of it. I only dream about cats going missing on the main road every single night--every single night.

Except last night, where I dreamt I'd lost my dice bag. That's real worry.

This morning's dream in part (we can skip the inevitable sections happening at an sf con, because all my dreams go there) involved playing with Big and Little on the bed. I knew they were dead, but accepted their presences. They were insubstantial walking through the laptop screen, poking paws through tablets. But at the same time I could still stroke Little's back and feel every bump of every vertebra just as I could in the months before she died.

Then my mother arrived, clutching a radio, and disgreeing with every word that was said on Farming Today. Again, I knew in-dream that she was dead.