The other night I had a dream...
-Wait.
Now let's just hold up right there. Before you say to yourself "there we go. She's going to go all Philosophical and idealistic on us. I knew this would happen sooner or later. I am out of here. And I am going to grab a pizza." , I want to assure you that I WON'T be that person. BUT I will say that I love dreaming, the idea of dreams, and what they could potentially mean in some way. But enough of that bull-honk. Let's get back to my (some would say epic) story.
I'll be honest with you. It's not the dream itself that was very amazing, or life changing or sobering (literally and metaphorically). It was what happened the morning after the dream that was life changing (may I also point out that like the loser junior high minded boy I am, writing "morning after" made me think of sex and birth control... I know, it's a stretch, but I take what I can get...) Okay. Right. Back to this dream. There was a stranger who appeared in my dream and sang music from the musical "Little Shop of Horrors" to me (If anyone knows the music from that show, you would be able to see that I am a true romantic at heart...) and I was hooked. We were in love.
Then I awoke to my cats wrestling on my bed. And my dream life consisting of me falling in love with a firefighter (I just added that in, just a touch of back-story on my dream soul-mate) who looked vaguely Italian and had a fondness for singing songs that a giant plant would normally sing turned into the reality of me living the life of a crazy cat lady.
The plot thickens here, my friends. (some would comment that with a plot that thin, there is nothing thick enough to save it, and to that I say, "touche") As I am sitting at my bookstore schlepper job, I look up and BAM. Mr. "Firefighter of my dreams" is standing right in front of me, holding a book on travelling to Italy.
I peed a little in my pants.
At first I wanted to kiss him and scream in his face "YOU WERE IN MY DREAMS LAST NIGHT. FROM THIS DAY FORTH, WE SHALL NEVER BE APART. EVER." But after visions of me going to jail (and for the record, going to jail is on my bucket list), being labeled a stalker (also on my bucket list), and never seeing my cats again (NOT on my bucket list) I decided to play it cool.
Or in Lindsey-terms, act like a mildly retarded person.
So with my insane wide-eyed toothy grin, I did my best not to break eye contact with him (this was hard to do, because he didn't like looking at me... was this a hint? I THINK NOT), kept the conversation flowing (with witty remarks like "sure is cold outside" and "I only work here part-time. I am a struggling artist." I don't know how he could resist me...) and had a slight to-and-fro swaying movement to indicate that I liked to dance (or was it because I still had a bit of a buzz from the night before...I guess I can't drink 2 bottles of wine in one sitting like I used to do...) when I hit him with the big guns. I commented on how he was going to visit Italy and then I asked if I could join him. He promptly answered "no." but that kind of "no" that has a slight tinge of disgust in the voice. Not enough that I could be offended personally, but enough to know where we stood. (And with my luck it would be at least 150 feet away from him at all times.) He left after that comment. Never to be seen in my non-dreaming life again.
Unless I can jimmy his window open while he is sleeping and go rifle his sock drawer.
That's what love is all about, isn't it?
I'll just save you all the time in sending me off countless emails and say yes.
In other news, I think I will quit my job and become a full-time dreamer. Then my Italian fire-fighter who has a 59-pack of abs, supports my 2-bottles of wine a day drinking necessity, also works for Doctors without borders and likes to garden will sing "Feed Me, Seymour" to me as I fall asleep each night and will always be with me. And he will also be with my 47 cats.
Now that's a dream we can all believe in.
Until next time I am moderately conscious,
Lindsey "I DID have a dream" Walker
