Seriously, when somebody starts telling me about a dream they had, I start singing Culture Club songs in my head, but damn, last night, short-way into a bout of alcoholing around with some amalgamated folks in the shifty and shifting landscape of a dream, I made it known that I would return promptly with treats, and, as I am wont, left to go buy a quantity of cocaine. This, my karma chameleon, seemed to bring me out through the vestibule of an anchoring tenant into the cavernous corridor of a shopping mall where I internally reconsidered my mission. A momentary reflection on the inadvisability of purchasing cocaine was not uncommon in my waking world of recent years, but here’s the breakthrough: I heeded the wisdom of that reflection and turned around to go back empty handed. One of the aggravating characteristics of my (previous, I’m hoping) condition was that once started, I was driven, even almost against my will at times; there was never any going back. So, even though it was only a dream, it was a big first and I’ll take it as a positive omen.