I dreamed that I went to see a doctor
whose office was in the middle of a department store.
I told her that I was having trouble with my right hand,
numbness, and she said that there was a new treatment
for that, and took out a giant meat cleaver.
"Put your hand right here," she said, and motioned
for me to lay my hand down on a, well, chopping block.
Then she whacked at my wrist once, twice, again,
until the hand fell off. OWWWWWW!
Then she gently put the hand back on again
and told me to be careful as it healed.
I asked her if she was going to tape it up,
and she said, no, just be careful
so it doesn't fall off.
The rest of the dream (which involved an estate
in Stanwood Washington, a barn, an auction, Mass,
Tom Jones, six skunks, salmon the size of sides of beef
smoking on a massive grill in a forest, shelves and shelves
of uninteresting books and women in plumed
and netted hats) I was anxious and terrified
that my hand would fall off and I'd lose the use of it.
There was a worried red line at my wrist,
but I awoke with my appendage gloriously intact.
This must be Labor Day anxiety, because my right hand
is essential for the work I do, and today's Labor Day,
and I'm headed off to work soon.