I'm glad you got eight hours of sleep. Sorry for the anxiety dream, lovely though your description of it is.

not looking anything like an Alma-Tadema painting, which is how it sounds when I write it out: modern, hip-cocked, genuinely bored

I was thinking of Alma-Tadema as I was reading this, yes. Your description speaks to me, somehow--the garb of an Alma-Tadema figure, but the body language that's nothing like.

I can almost see her, the Inescapable One, but I sincerely hope I never do. In any case, my anxiety dreams run more to warplanes, everything from realistic-looking single seater jets to impossible things whose wings surely wouldn't get them off the ground or keep them up even if they had more airspeed, drifting well below stall speed through the streets and over the highways, at treetop level or at their highest somewhere round the rooftop of an eight storey building like my old undergraduate residence.

You've my sympathy. May she stay away from you. Aphrodite, I pray you ask your daughter to find some other to visit tonight.