Last night I had a nightmare that an angry poet was trying to kill me -- I didn't realize he moved to my town and everyday I was walking with Gideon in the stroller unknowingly through his property -- and almost being killed by his booby traps.

Something very frightening happened and I woke up yelling.

I didn't yell loud enough to wake Chris, just disturb him -- he rolled over to get away from the noise.

I said, "I had a bad dream" but only said it once and not very loud and remained unheard.

I have lots of nightmares (one or two a week), but it's been a long time since one has made me scream and I can't recall one ever having me die for poetry's sake.

I reaffirm my stance: As a busy mom, I don't have the luxury to die for poetry.