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OMG(aga)
[I just woke up, ahead of schedule (and a few times), but that didn't prevent me from sinking back into the same dream (or non-cohesive continuation) of it.
The facts first: at 7:11, I set the alarm for 9:15, then realized it should have been 10:15 (you know me and my 3-hour requirement). Fixed. But I'm feeling weird because my feet are bare. Still, I do fall asleep.]
In the dream, Brian and I have some unusual plans for the day. I'm cooking pasta and end up with a wide broad bowl of linguine; I believe there are strands of carrots and tiny squares of cheese on top. [Why this is supposed to be special, I do not know.]
Brian's supposed to drive over and pick me up. He does, but somehow I'm walking up a set of concrete ramps (imagine those old-fashioned metal fire escapes, but solid, at a less acute angle), with each landing being someone's terrace. Some of the terraces appear to be almost maze-like, with intricate interconnections.
I see someone over on the terrace that is opposite Brian's, lying on a chaise longue. It's either someone I have had a relationship with, or wish I'd had. [After I woke up, I couldn't even remember if it was a man or woman. Irate Note To Brain: Hey, you, why you keep secrets from me? Brain's Response: Nyahaha!]
Brian's hurrying after me (Ha! In my dream, I'm the fast one); now it seems as if the dish he's carrying has morphed into a take-out oblong container. He's been followed by several people who suddenly are interested in our cooking show and MY blog in particular. They're all sliding folded money into the space between the lid and bottom. I remember a five dollar bill escaping and falling onto the floor (that's no longer concrete but wooden slats). I grab it, because every five dollars is important (Ha! That's real life talking).
One person, an important man, says to give him a call about the blog and slips in his card as well as a twenty.
Now it's back to the food and the pasta is in a smaller deeper bowl. Brian's been complaining at the lack of heat. [This is one of his peeves, that hot food should be served hot! It's no wonder I got myself the heated serving tray.]
[At this point, I'd already woken up a couple of times, the first at 8:24. I'd also heard something like a badly-creaking floorboard when someone steps on it. And finally, when I checked the cellphone again, it was 9:24 so I gave up and struggled out of bed.
The moral of the story is that, if you're going to eat a hard-boiled egg and a muffin and not wear socks to bed, you'll have a weird dream. That's my story and I'm sticking to it! Now I'm going to have a tomato-on-rye (it was the fresh package of bread falling onto the floor that must have caused the very loud creaking sound).]
[I just woke up, ahead of schedule (and a few times), but that didn't prevent me from sinking back into the same dream (or non-cohesive continuation) of it.
The facts first: at 7:11, I set the alarm for 9:15, then realized it should have been 10:15 (you know me and my 3-hour requirement). Fixed. But I'm feeling weird because my feet are bare. Still, I do fall asleep.]
In the dream, Brian and I have some unusual plans for the day. I'm cooking pasta and end up with a wide broad bowl of linguine; I believe there are strands of carrots and tiny squares of cheese on top. [Why this is supposed to be special, I do not know.]
Brian's supposed to drive over and pick me up. He does, but somehow I'm walking up a set of concrete ramps (imagine those old-fashioned metal fire escapes, but solid, at a less acute angle), with each landing being someone's terrace. Some of the terraces appear to be almost maze-like, with intricate interconnections.
I see someone over on the terrace that is opposite Brian's, lying on a chaise longue. It's either someone I have had a relationship with, or wish I'd had. [After I woke up, I couldn't even remember if it was a man or woman. Irate Note To Brain: Hey, you, why you keep secrets from me? Brain's Response: Nyahaha!]
Brian's hurrying after me (Ha! In my dream, I'm the fast one); now it seems as if the dish he's carrying has morphed into a take-out oblong container. He's been followed by several people who suddenly are interested in our cooking show and MY blog in particular. They're all sliding folded money into the space between the lid and bottom. I remember a five dollar bill escaping and falling onto the floor (that's no longer concrete but wooden slats). I grab it, because every five dollars is important (Ha! That's real life talking).
One person, an important man, says to give him a call about the blog and slips in his card as well as a twenty.
Now it's back to the food and the pasta is in a smaller deeper bowl. Brian's been complaining at the lack of heat. [This is one of his peeves, that hot food should be served hot! It's no wonder I got myself the heated serving tray.]
[At this point, I'd already woken up a couple of times, the first at 8:24. I'd also heard something like a badly-creaking floorboard when someone steps on it. And finally, when I checked the cellphone again, it was 9:24 so I gave up and struggled out of bed.
The moral of the story is that, if you're going to eat a hard-boiled egg and a muffin and not wear socks to bed, you'll have a weird dream. That's my story and I'm sticking to it! Now I'm going to have a tomato-on-rye (it was the fresh package of bread falling onto the floor that must have caused the very loud creaking sound).]
