Strange dream. I was a younger woman, fairly petite, good looking and well dressed, with a lovely shade of crimson lipstick, attending an event near Union Square, but not wearing the appropriate footgear. It's surprising how fast you can walk in woolly socks! And I needed to get home, because I had forgotten my handbag which had my wallet and credit cards inside with which I could buy comfy loafers because in this weather with those wet pavements in this city with sloping streets especially, anything high-heeled would be unwise. My heavens, this lipstick accentuates my lips nicely! No wonder that old lawyer is leering at me.
Get away, you perv! I'm wearing woolly socks!
I'm still baffled as to how I ended up accidentally in the company of my boss, who had just gotten out of the hospital for something minor, and two other gentlemen -- Mr. Porchhanger and Mr. Boseman -- in a different place entirely. All of us were sober and well-behaved, so don't worry. Nothing skeevy likely to happen in any case, and there was a chaperone.
You know, I'm quite decent-looking when I make an effort.
Besides, bad lighting softens the lines.
There had been a woman on the bus with kissy lips, but she carried a big formless fluffy handbag and I remember thinking that that was the silliest thing I had seen, and her companion had a ditzbrain vacuous look .....
See, what caused the peculiar dream was probably a small cup of strong coffee, espresso level, just before lying down, as well as Amlodipine Besylate. Because I didn't want to sleep too long. Just enough to warm up and relax the feet.
My dress was a dark colour suitable for evening wear. But sensible. Simple.
No, I don't remember what my bra and panties were like.
Being male, this should have interested me.
But I'm sure it was normal.
I am not weird.
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3 comments:
My dream the other night had me imprisoned, partially in an actual jail and the rest of the time in an old Victorian, nestled somewhere in a dark forest. As I age, sometimes it is not always obvious that I am dreaming, and I wake up actually believing what I just experienced was real. It’s a real trip. I should be sleeping.
An old Victorian somewhere in a forest, if not used as a prison, sounds delightful. Provided, of course, that emergency services can get there fast if needed, and a pharmacy is easily reachable, as well as a place where caffeinated beverages may be had. So, an urban forest. Possibly several blocks of redwoods in a cluster near bus lines and a Chinatown.
In the state of Oregon, the land of nutty liberalism and armed citizens, there is a franchise called McMenamins. Pubs, hotels, restaurants, scattered throughout the state. It is common to find pubs, apparently, according to family members who travel there on a regular basis, nestled in or near giant redwoods, off of dark, windy roads. As much as I am an urban rat, I find such establishments, nestled among the giants, to be intriguing. I love the idea of a place where I can swill grog, stuff my face with sausage and mash, and mingle among the locals in a dark place, the lights of the pub being the only light in a pit of darkness. I long to travel again.
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