Nononono - this isn't going to be some thought-provoking neopolitical tripe like MLK's speech.
Last nite I had a vivid dream. Stupid, but vivid. I dreamed I was asking my new doctor - who was female - if she would be writing script for me to get my meds refilled. DUH.
I've had a lot of weird dreams. Every year or so I have the one where all my teeth fall out - my annual "Make that dentist's appointment and get the choppers cleaned!" self-reminder. As a kid, I used to be able to fly in my dreams. It was scary and exhilarating all at the same time.
When I was pregnant - I used to have the WILDEST dreams. I remember one clearly, I was kneeling in the dirt behind the parents' garage, burying a shoebox full of vegetables like carrots and turnips. I have no idea why.
I also remember the dream rooms. These rooms either started from the top of the stairs in my grandmother's house in Chicago - or behind the bookshelf (why do I always hear Terri Garr saying "behint zee booksheff" from Young Frankenstein?) in my childhood bedroom.
There wasnt' anything "ominous" or "frightening" - nothing magical - just a set of stairs and my curiosity to see what was there. Rooms decorated in golds and greens, heavy flocked wallpaper and lots of fringe. Carved woodwork stained dark. Frosted-globe light fixtures, curving thick bannisters and carpeted staircases...
I can still see them. I wish I could live there. It was pretty.
Maybe I should go phone up my doctor...