In the morning, pulsating between sleep and wake, I dreamed of myself in unknown New England forest locations. I would tell myself “find Newton” (the city) and I would turn, compass-like, to what I hoped was a correct direction. And then I’d fly. Slowly if my arms were by my side. Faster if I extended them. I was surprised to find sections of land so close to water-level that there would be unexpected lakes of shallow brown water far too often. I worried a bit flying over them, but they were shallow and I just needed to brave on. Some people drove over the water in foot-pedal cars. I tried asking someone why there was so much water but I didn’t get an answer. It was difficult to speak (due to my dream being so close to consciousness, the paralysis inherent to sleep was affecting my mouth, and finding its way into my dream).
I eventually found myself in a place I recognized — I realized I was in Essex. Many miles from Newton, but, New England. It was night now, and I gave up flying for awhile. Oddly, I recognized the location not from real life, but from another dream — a particular block of shops.
Then I dreamed that I was in bed, and that Simon Peg was sleeping on top of me. Not sexual, he was just there. I think he wanted a lift. I also recall telling Eliza Duschu that Newton North was being torn down soon. (She’s originally from a nearby town).