Corned Beef Hash for the Hippocampus

I woke up early this morning then fell into a dense efficient second sleep, for an hour or long enough to have a cool dream.

This was in my dream.  This is the huge (15 ft?) verticle sign on the side of an old brick building I pass on the way into the city.  It’s been renovated in the last year and everything is slick and crisp.  On the left side of the building facing the street, the vestibule there looks like a diner– the lighting, the mood, the furniture–and I’ve since found out it IS a cafe–and on the right side are the offices of Ponessa.
 TW Ponessa is a behavioral health provider. So in my dream it was combined into both diner and MH provider, and it was the scene from the famous Hopper painting of people in a diner late at night, a soda jerk behind the counter.
 I woke up thinking –people go into a diner, especially late at night, for comfort and familiarity– it could be a diner in Boise but you still want the same things: people to take care of you and a sense that everything’s ok. A good diner sets things to rights.  Which is also what you want when you seek MH help.  Not chicken soup for the soul; maybe Meatloaf for the Limbic System.
Just needs a rotating glass display case, but instead of pies it would feature SSRIs and benzodiazepines.