As is typical these days, I ended up falling asleep into a weird, deep-sleeping nap not long after getting home from my Saturday classes, always getting discombobulated by the shift to the morning schedule on the weekend.
As is increasingly common, these days, too, I dreamed of food. My waking life's efforts at eating are still uncomfortable and unfulfilling, so my traditional love of food finds its outlet in my dreams.
Specifically, this evening, I dreamed of eating Harold Fried Chicken (which is advertized with an apostrophe, but I never heard it referenced in speaking except as Harold). Harold is a Chicago fast-food chain that became near and dear to my heart when I lived in Chicago in 1985. I blogged about craving Harold while doing a Buddhist meditation retreat and then getting it after it ended, here.
The name Harold always makes me think of Harold's Purple Crayon, too. That was true even in the dream, where I seemed to meet Harold of the Crayon while eating Harold Chicken.
That is a great series of books - not to mention that Harold is the emperor of epistemology for the preschool set.
What I'm listening to right now.
Niki & The Dove, "Mother's Protect (Goldroom Remix)."
[daily log (1100 pm): walking, 5.5 km]
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