The anvils are falling, even in my dreams.

I had the wildest dreams last night, and they were in living color, a strange mix of memory and dread. I was living in the house on Drury, it'd just been freshly painted. There was a wind storm and the enormous tree in the front yard toppled. I was relieved to see that it didn't hit my neighbor's house, but was supported off the ground by its own branches. Then as I watched the trunk snapped, and I could hear but not see the damage two houses away. My mother came out of the house, and I told her I needed to go to work, but when I walked to the old truck I was driving (shades of the old flatbed Mark and I drove when we first moved in together) I found the hood open and the oil cap off,  open to the all night rainstorm.  In that omniscient form of dream knowing,  I knew it was vandalism. When I got in, it started, but each time I pumped the brakes water shot out of the oil reservoir. When I started driving, I discovered I had no brakes and had to use the Toyota style emergency brake to stop.

I must have woken 20 times, only to find Monster curling up on my stomach or legs. He's been my constant companion since J left., sometimes I get annoyed by his reptilian craving for body heat.

I don't know much about dream symbolism, but even I can see the theme of powerlessness. I have no idea  how long it will be before I feel in control again, enough to travel on my bike alone again and be confident and strong. I lost some of that, and I want it back. I have a four day weekend  coming up, and it won't be spent watching Jay remove the last remnants of his life from my home. He can bloody well wait, he's had ample opportunity to move everything out. I'm taking off on my bike, just don't know the destination yet.