I dreamed I was a mattress. A thin, hard mattress. I was also me. I sat on myself. Human me was uncomfortable with mattress me. Mattress me was uncomfortable with human me. Mattress me stood up. Human me fell to the ground, hard.

I dreamed my siblings were going to put me in an institution, get power of attorney over me, and use that power to steal my money slowly, discreetly, over many years until my death, the way my father did with his oil-rich aunt in Oklahoma.

The other dreams were just darkness but not the scary kind. The kind like floating in black water in the middle of the night in a silty lake you know doesn’t have water mocassins in it. Peaceful like that, as peaceful as things get in my sleeping and waking worlds.