Another reason not to leave the house.
Tim and I were outside for only a FEW MINUTES, and I missed a call from Timmy-One-Fourth-of-Timothy-James-Beck.
He was calling to tell me that he’d just met:
Scoff if this brush with greatness does not impress you, but when I was seven, I was going to grow up and marry him.
Later, although it was the rebellious one that my musician friend Riley led me to admire, I secretly best loved the music and quiet, wry humor of the spiritual one.
So I still haven’t figured out why the only one I ever had an erotic dream about was him.
I also once dreamed that this man and I were gettin’ busy in a house trailer, but I never mix my bands, so that’s a story for another time.
I’m happy for you, Timmy, for meeting Sir Paul, and I’m sorry I missed your call.
I love dreams. They’re so multi-layered and complex but at the same time can be blindingly clarifying (if we trust our instincts).
A house trailer, hmm. Interesting!
(I assume a house trailer is a caravan?)
Good to know you’re okay after the evacuation.
Thank you. =)
I usually remember my dreams, but sometimes the ones I don’t remember I think are just my means of working out things for my fiction. Occasionally, when I wake up, even before coffee, my mind is rapidly putting together stuff that ends up in my novels.
A house trailer is larger and permanent (well, except for those pesky tornados that feed off of trailers). I suppose a caravan would be what I call a camper, RV, or motor home–meant to be on the go.
“Caravan” is a new name for those for me–I’d already learned a new one from Whytraven, “fifth wheel.”