Last night I dreamt of a spider. The spider was golden, translucent, beautiful. I wasn’t afraid of the spider, but still, I found her inconvenient and tried to drown her. My attempt failed and the spider emerged victorious. She transformed into a larger spider, the size of a small dog, and suddenly appeared to have large red, black, and gold feathers for legs. She shook the water from her large, golden body and feather legs. I thought she was going to be pissed at me for trying to drown her – was sure that she was coming for me. But instead, she sauntered off into another room like it weren’t no thing. A little irritated, maybe, but in no mood to fight. Clearly, she wasn’t there to do me any harm. She simply wanted to share my space. Nothing wrong with that, really.

I wasn’t especially afraid of what I felt was an imminent (and probably deserved) attack: I knew I could handle her if necessary. At the same time I felt like running. I was relieved not to have to, and eventually fine with the notion of sharing space with her. Though I did think to myself: maybe it would be a good idea to shut the door when I sleep. Just in case.

In the dream, I was in my apartment, but not my apartment. It was a sunny, clean, cozy – a house rather than an apartment. It was like my actual apartment but nothing like my actual apartment. I was comfortable there, safe, but the architecture was completely different. It has a similar feel, but a radically different feel. The windows were open.

Since July, almost every time I look at a clock it reads 11:11.

“Don’t run,” she says.

Good advice. Running only wears you out.