Dreams of Colbert Nation

Had the weirdest dreams last night. Dreams within dreams. Waking and waking again, but still in dreamland, like those nested Russian dolls. The longest running series was of me grieving over the unexpected death of Stephen Colbert. In the first of the series, I remember thinking about him dying just as I was dropping off to sleep. Even as I had the thought, I wondered what would make me think that. Upon waking from that night of dream-sleeping, I had the strong intuition that he had in fact died and that I had felt it psychically the night before. I started bawling uncontrollably. I couldn't bear the thought of this huge comedic voice-of-a-generation-type dying so young. It just seemed so unfair and unacceptable, that I convulsed in sobs.

Worse, I couldn't confirm whether my intuitive hit was correct. Finally, when I ran into friends and family they confirmed his death, but none of them—nobody—seemed to care much. I tried to find some news online or on cable to really confirm, but couldn't. I was damn near incapacitated with grief over this man I've never met and am not that big a fan of. (I mean I like him a lot, but this was over the top.) Still, I couldn't understand why no one else cared, or at least cared enough about me to say some sympathetic words.

Anyway, this kept up from one dream or dream segment to another. The combination of lack of reliable information, a deep unbearable grief over a public figure, and the apathy of my friends when what I needed was sympathy or empathy was truly bizarre and left a really nasty taste in my mouth.