Everyone seems to be concerned about my stress level, and I thank them for that. It comes with the territory, although a major readjustment is in order.

Be that as it may, stress brings out peculiar dreams in me. Last night's was particularly weird.

I was on a small, wooded hill overlooking my childhood home, a position I often enjoyed, and an invasion of aliens was taking place. I never really saw them; I kept my back to them all the time looking at the house and the woods in front of me. Things were not good, though, and many people around me were being vaporized. TV monitors were being played of devastation around the world when Grace Jones popped up on the screen with a white flag surrendering a smoldering Paris (I was so glad she got the part).

Somehow I had the wherewithal to turn (still not seeing who was threatening me) and walk in an 18th Century, French court dress of yellow and gold (not unlike this photo I took of Olympia 12 years ago at The Roxy's Bastille Day party) toward a staircase. There, I demonstrated to the aliens how to walk up and down a circular staircase with matching, embroidered heeled slippers. This, somehow, was of value to the aliens because they spared me long enough to find the staircase out. Walking down, I awoke.

All this and no pills or alcohol. Bees will have a field day with this.