2003-03-25 - 3:11 p.m.

I was crawling through narrow streets in a fortified city made of stone.

Sudden violent shakings from nearby bombs threw me off, I hadn't expected this

city to be under threat. I crawled faster, not with a particular destination

but to have the feeling of doing something about the situation. Just ahead on

the right, a massive series of explosions shook and heat appeared through the

walls, a glowing orange red. Some of the huge stone blocks that made up the

outer wall had been pushed inward by the force and were laying askew. I

turned back.

It was too real. The sense of chaos around me, the noises of bombs, of people. As I crawled down a side lane to get

away from the outer wall, the feeling of impending explosions behind me was

crushing. It almost pinned my limbs, my crawl slowed to a crawl until I was

reaching out for nearby handholds I could use to pull myself forward through

the murk of my immobility. I was trying desperately to round a corner before

the big one hit, sending shrapnel, stone, heat, fire my way, at my currently

exposed back. A fireman tapped me on the shoulder as he crawled by, heading

for what must be better shelter. I continued going around this corner,

thinking him dumb: he would get fried in the fire and I would be safe behind

this wall, even if it would be closer to the epicenter.

I never found out which was right. I woke up on my bad side, head full of

cotton and eyes glazed with unrest. Rolling on to my back I had time to think

quite a few thoughts. How am I supposed to get sleep when I dream like this?

I remember now; in the sketch before the one that woke me, I and some cousins I

haven't seen in ages rolled a big-wheeled cart down a snowy hill for fun. We

were at the bottom of the hill and got together to push it back to the top

when the dream started to change. About halfway up, we were in the city and I

was alone, the cart forgotten as the unthinkable began. I can't deny the

feeling that the city was supposed to be impregnable, and my terror in

discovering I was in the middle of its surprised downfall. I wish I knew if I

had survived.

The sketch before the cart was very unsettling. I'd arrived with my family at

my great-grandparents house (both of whom are dead now). We kept knocking but

no one answered. Seeing a light on in a window, I went round to it and peeked

in. My great grandfather Albini Tremblay was there, turned briefly to see us,

and turned back to what he was doing. He appeared to be alone.

It was a shock to see him. It wasn't the fact that he's dead, in this sketch

he was living, but the fact that he exhuded sorrow, that he seemed utterly

alone and unhappy with life. He lived the hollow life of a man waiting for the

end, possessed by his own thoughts and unable to be brought out of them.

Oddly enough, this man was one of my very few actual blood relatives. I know

now that the grandfather I grew up with was not my biological one, and I've

known as far as I can remember that I didn't have a dad around when I was a

kid.

Anyway, someone had joined me and I went around to the front and we waved,

thinking he just hadn't seen us. Now we realized he wasn't recognizing us, or

didn't care. Fit perfectly with the impression I had of his mood and feelings

when I first saw him. We continued around the house, trying to get closer or

something, and from the last window saw some others had gotten up (strange, I

thought, it was only 9:30 pm, although it was quite dark) and they were

smiling and welcoming us, the feeling of "la grande visite" shining through

their countenances. I think I recall seeing my great-grandmother there,

looking distant though. She died well before my great-grandfather. I can

still remember her voice and the impression I had of her.

And her lemon meringue pie. :)

Right. Time for a shower. I have hazy memories of waking up at 9:40 am to

talk to my mom... that was 5 hours ago. I was in bed at 2am but up again and

back to sleep by 4 or so. Sigh. Will work this out. I have the alarm set to

11:00 am and we'll see how that works. Report forthcoming tomorrow. Bye.

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