Last night I dreamed about soft, squishy cucumbers. Cucumbers, in other words, that were not firm and rigid, as cucumbers should be. What would Freud say? In this case, however, no sexual subtext need be uncovered; I'm just having a bad season with cucumbers. The real ones, the vegetables. The plants I put in hardly grew at all, so I've left the few stunted fruits they produced on the vine to turn yellow and gross and silently reproach me; I also over-bought cukes for pickles, and the leftovers are slowly spoiling in the fridge. So yes, it is a purely literal concern. About cucumbers. Oh man, gardening puts alot of pressure on a fellow!