Thursday, 10 October. Once I dreamt the inscription on my tombstone: “Here Lies Annie, Who Never Did Anything.” In the dream, I was walking with my friend Margot, a woman I met soon after settling in England for Chet’s last tour of duty. We were on our way to someone’s house to meet with other women and talk about recipes. The picture of the tombstone flashed through my mind.
I felt resentful and sullen when I woke up — I don’t like being reminded that I have never made anything of myself in the world; then I remembered that the dream’s atmosphere had been one of sunny contentment. I was puzzled. There I was walking through eternity a happy woman and at the same time meeting the fierce judgement of death.
