I dreamed again that I was in hell, forever separating the independent
clauses of a compound sentence, as if they were young siblings fighting
over space in the back seat of the family station wagon.
Later that night, I dreamed I was caught in traffic.
Upon waking, I was filled with the "immortal longings" that impel
"every hyphen and semicolon," as discussed by William Stryon in
Sophie's Choice.