Days of the Locust

Books and websites for interpreting dreams exist out of necessity. Dreams make no sense on their own. But my dream last night defies the sites I've searched. I dreamed a rough patch on the back of my left thigh began to look like a nipple. But my dermatologist said that it was benign and Medicare wouldn't pay for having it removed. So I left it. And I'm kind of glad I did, because if I'd had it taken off, I never would have seen what happened next: It turned into a full breast.  Now what does that mean?

I don’t believe in God (except in foxholes), but I do believe in original sin. How else to explain the guilt that has burdened me my whole life. Any windfall triggers panic and a pull to pay it forward—not out of generosity but to duck the sense of having gotten more than my due. And even hard-earned income is fraught, since I don’t deserve it any more than people who earn less deserve less. The upside of luckiness seems to come only if my luck is trivial. Having the means to live in comfort can make me miserable, but spotting a quarter on the sidewalk can make my day. And squeezing into a subway car just as the doors close—now that’s an occasion for unrepentant joy. But the luckiest kind of luck for me comes in the form of hardship averted. One of the happiest days in recent memory was last year when my brother and sister-in-law and I were in San Francisco to settle my mother’s affairs. My sister-in-law had dropped me and my brother at a Wells Fargo branch and driven off to park

Is it just me, or does the language of today reek of entitlement? Among the many words and phrases I detest: "go-to," "I'm all about," "must-have," "me time," "self-care," "You've got this." Here they are in a single obnoxious passage that I completely made up: I'm a busy important woman. When I get me time, I'm all about self-care. My go-to must-have is $700 Gold Dust Moisturizer. I can face anything when I'm wearing my GDM. I tell myself, "You've got this, girl."