I Dig on Swine
Written in my Memoir Notes file on November 30, 2015:
Last night—or rather this morning, just before waking up—I had an interesting dream. I was carrying this turkey around, and trying to wring its neck. I hadn’t done a good job, so it wasn’t dead, but its neck was kinda bent, kinda swollen, and I really needed to kill the thing. I wasn’t angry at it—it was just matter of fact. Then the turkey became a pig. A big, fat, good-natured pig, and I felt bad that I had to kill it. I didn’t want it to suffer. I asked someone else for help, and they told me that if you sliced the pig’s vein near its front leg, it would bleed out and the pig would simply lose consciousness and fall asleep. I trusted the person, so we lay the pig on the ground and I held its back legs down. The other person took a sharp knife and made a quick incision. The pig twitched and panicked for a second, but then it got this peaceful look on its face. Meanwhile, blood started to gush out everywhere. It was getting on me, and I could smell it. I thought I was going to be sick. But I was glad that the pig wasn’t suffering. I said out loud, “Wow, this really is the best way to do it,” and suddenly the pig chuckled and smiled, as if agreeing with me, as if grateful.
I think I woke up before it had finished dying.