The 17th of every month is brings something intense to me.

This morning before I woke up I had a crazy dream. For some reason it was St. Patrick's Day (the worst holiday ever) and I was in church. The first Presbyterian Church in downtown Portland, to be exact. Now this particular church is pretty formal -big stained glass windows, velvet pews, gigantic organ up in a loft (not a drum-set or electric guitar to be found), preachers who wear doctoral robes and bifocals and lecture from the podium.


So, in my dream, I was in this church, but instead of being in my regular place -- house right balcony -- I was in a little room behind the Chancel -- not a Sacristy, but like a focus group observation booth. I could see the backs of the preacher's chairs. A bunch of Irish guys came into this room to sit with me and lit up a joint. They started smoking up and I was really appalled. "This is CHURCH - maaaaaan. -- not too cool" "Chill out." one of them said with a devil-like smile. So I waited.


Instead of the organ prelude, a little man in a suit came out and started playing some kind of a jig on a calliope. I thought this was weird and decided to try to sneak out of church. The bells rang, and the acolyte came in to light the candles followed by the preachers who took their places on the chancel. Instead of doing the call to worship, however, Dr. Tom chucked an M80 or something into the nave. Suddenly the congregation all had sparklers and fireworks -- and holy hell was breaking out in the sanctuary.


I tried to sneak out -- through the frenzy -- and found my self in the church basement. A typical sterile place with a kitchen and a bunch of church ladies with pies and cakes and urns of coffee. And Bo was there.





I knew I had to get him back to Boston. Away from Portland -- so I told him to get in the baby backpack carrier so I could carry him out and somehow get to the airport. He argued with me about that, but I forced him in to the carrier and hoisted him up on my back. When I got outside, the entire downtown had changed. The Church was on an island, surrounded by deep cracks in the earth that revealed molten lava. There was no way to get out and get to the airport. I kept looking at my watch -- worried about missing my flight, and frantically calling people on my cel trying to reach someone who would get us out of this mess. Bo was getting so heavy that I could barely lift my legs from the ground.


So I went back in the chruch and tried to find some church lady that I could pay to take me to the airport. None of them wanted to help. Frustrated, I sat down and began to cry in the basement of this church. That's when I woke up.







Bo has been dead for 10 months today