Perhaps I should not have had cake for dinner last night. Our landlady dropped off some fabulous slices from a noted San Francisco bakery, in consequence of which I did not fix myself a nutritious dinner, but feasted upon Swedish Princess and Dark Chocolate Mocha Cream.
It may have influenced my dreams. I found myself running to escape bikers through a mass transit station filled with cake and pastry concessions. Several floors connected by palatial tunnels, lovely frescoes and cream-hued Venetian plaster moldings.
It was a wonderful dream, and slightly frightening.
I should also mention that my bloodpressure meds make my dreams more vivid and realistic.
The best part of the dream was the short stocky woman in the distance resolutely marching away, wearing a backpack and a black coat. Not even five foot tall.
The backpack was large and pink. Salmon pink.
There is more cake in the refrrigerator.
I'll have some this evening.
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