It was a dream with all that. It also was a dream where, out of nowhere, as I'm by myself in a family house, my late Grandpa Irv shows up: hale, hearty, joking. And I hug him, hard, because we're a family of huggers, but then he's not there. After he'd seemed to be physically there, somehow more solid than anything else in the dream. And, after that, other family members of mine show up, wondering why I seemed so distracted and sad.
Irv Walsh died in June 2005.
Oh, and also there was a brief Robin Williams appearance, because why not be sad about one other part of the dream?
To rework a Caitlin R. Kiernan term, I am a little dream-sick this morning. Or maybe dream-hungover.