beckett fences

i was reminded recently of a dream i had about my grandmother shortly after moving here. i was riding a bicycle on a dirt road through a field of rolling hills. the light was red, suggesting sunset in the way a staged production of a sunset would look. in fact, it felt very much as though i was riding through some sort of set, like a stageplay of Waiting for Godot. But the road was very dusty and i wasn't on a stage. my grandmother was sitting sideways on the crossbar of the bicycle. she was slumped over, her head against my neck. she was very sick and i was trying to take her somewhere to get help. but i had to stop riding the bicycle because she was too heavy. she became like a big rubber doll, like she had no bones and was full of wet sand. i don't clearly remember anything else about the dream. i think any impressions or feelings i have beyond these images can be attributed to embellishment after the fact. it's pretty hard not to automatically assign the "obvious" meaning to a dream like this one. my grandmother died in the winter of the year i moved away.

hmmmmm.

RIP Susan Sontag. you wrote terrible novels, but everything else you did was pretty good.