papal grandfather, desk calendar

[threeplusfire]

Awoke with a pounding headache from a very long dream in which the Pope was my grandfather. He was waiting for me to come back from a mission, for what else would the granddaughter of the Pope be but a secret agent? I didn't make it in time, and so when I returned to Vatican there was a letter waiting for me from him. I wailed, I remember, shocking amounts of grief and frustration all bundled up. One of the cardinals took me to his office and in hushed tones told me to take whatever I would from his desk before someone came to clear it all away. Flipping through a battered and worn desk calendar, I could see where his hand had written in my birthday.

I'm near to tears even as I type this, as the dream was exceedingly emotional. Despite my relatively even keel these days I think I must need to run off and cry every now and again. Safety valve I suppose. I'm going to blame British Boy and Alan for the conversation yesterday about the Pope and his (looming) death. It makes me sad, as I like John Paul II very much.

Thanks to the wealth of options provided by Vanityfair's post here I've been writing my dear elected officials since I woke up, and I'm really thinking I do need the Republicans For Voldemort shirt as it seems especially appropriate these days.