Last night's dream — once I got to sleep to dream — was about correcting something I'd done wrong. And having trouble correcting it. Somehow, I'd wound up with a library book I'd taken from a library without checking it out, and I needed to get back to the same branch to get the book officially checked out. I kept having obstacles: a library branch I didn't usually go to, which was hard to get to; bus routes not cooperating; and a bus stop that was also an unexpected food cart pod. That pod felt like a gauntlet, a place where the people there somehow didn't want me there. I felt judged by the people in and near the carts. And anxious me got more anxious.
Very, very Portland; very, very me. That's what that dream felt like.