The buried bodies

This morning I had a refrain of dreams I've had in recent days and weeks: some combination of dream events was bringing to light skeletons in my closet from back in the day. They seem to revolve around Emerald Isle and pot dealers that I was involved with, with hints of actual bodies that may be sprinkled here or there.

For starters, let the record clearly state that there are no such skeletons in my closet. I never sold any weed in North Carolina, only briefly at Yale (3/8ths of a pound spread across two instances my sophomore year) and doing so made me so nervous that in each case I unloaded my stash within a day by pre-selling it and then delivering it as soon as I got it so as to not have it in my possession for long.

Probably the dreams are mostly about my dad, who did have a lot of unsavory business associates that he picked up from being a defense lawyer and who did party with them and, perhaps, do non-lawyer business with them. I have heard whispers to that effect, never confirmed, but it does haunt me a little.

Also, my back pain from moving the piano, which was pretty strong Saturday though largely absent Sunday, has returned a little. Our bodies are so interesting.