Whoops.

I was super sleepy last night after taking some prescription allergy medicine, and I errantly published something that was still in draft form. Bible verses were cut and pasted from several places, and it was a huge mess. Some references were missing, some were wrong, and there were no citations for version.

When I woke up this morning, I realized what had happened. I’ll fix it and repost, but I wanted to explain why it vanished. You didn’t imagine its existence.

I also had a dream that the brakes went bad on two different Honda Pilots that I was borrowing to help drive a sleepy friend on a long road trip where she was supposed to give a talk. The first Pilot careened backwards through quaint, suburban Nashville (which was suddenly all downhill), accelerating while I tried to navigate it unharmed through tiny old streets— until it finally rolled into the back end of a Toyota minivan. Momentum forced this minivan to roll inside of an old, stripped FedEx truck that someone had once tried to convert to haul a mass of homeschool kids but had only emptied and painted white.

This giant, steel Matryoshka was lifted by an enormous, three-story crane which was owned by a sketchy backyard garage in the Caldwell-Abbay Hall district.

The other Pilot ended up in an enormous canal (also in the Caldwell-Abbay Hall district) which was now in Savannah. There were barges.

The good news is that I swam to land while saving my friend’s box of pretty seashells that she was going to use as an example in the seminar that she was leading. The cardboard box was old and floppy, so this wasn’t easy.

I don’t know if the friend made it out because my chaotic neutral cat, Josephine, chose this moment to leap from a chest of drawers onto a metal heater. She’s sleeping now. I am not.

Anyway.

This is the backstory. Apparently, you can trust me with your seashell collection but not with your Honda Pilot nor with posts written written under the influence of antihistamines.