I’ve gotten a little behind with everything. Guess that’s what happens when you head to the boonies for 5 days and refuse to access a laptop or Wi-Fi internet while you’re gone. Going home is like a mini vacation for me. So I’m allowed to leave the my online life behind for a few days.
Walking out in the woods on a beautiful fall day will never compare to any day spent entirely on a computer.
I had quite an assortment of dreams last night. One very, very steamy one, and another where I drew on experiences from what is happening in my real, conscious life, and I was President of the United States of America. And they say life doesn’t influence the art we create in our heads. Pffft. I’m actually not sure if that’s true. I may have made that up.
What IS true, however, is a fun fact I read the other day while eating breakfast. Apparently, upon first waking up, if we are going to recall a dream, we remember it in its entirety within the first 10 seconds of waking. Another seven seconds, and we can only recall about 1/4 of it. Within ten minutes of waking, we forget the dream entirely.
Fascinating, isn’t it? I’m a little bit different, as I recall bits and pieces of dreams for hours/days/weeks to come after it has been played over in my head. Sometimes, I dream the same dream a couple more times, each time adding on a little bit more than the last time. The mind is an interesting, complicated piece of organized mush. I’m thankful there are people in the world who can cut open a person’s skull, get their fingers in there, probe around and fix the issues that are happening. Someone would crack their skull open near me and I would probably barf from the sound of shattering skull alone.
I’ll spare you the details of the hot and steamy one. But the POTUS one? I’ll share that one:
“I’m pacing in a back conference room. There’s a long, mahogany table shining in the center of the room, and a rather large flat screen TV is fixed to the wall behind where I am pacing. (All I can think at this point is of Effie Trinket from the Hunger Games yelling her infamous mahogany line.)My hands rest on my hips in my slim-cut navy blue suit, and i just keep pacing back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.
Quickly, the door opens, and a younger man steps in. Camera flashes and the shouting of invasive questions burst from the doorway and are quickly shut away once the door is clicked closed behind him. He walks over to me, I stop pacing, and we simply stare at each other. He has the same curly flop of hair that Josh Groban does, but he is tall, dark and handsome. (He has been in my dreams many, many times before, and I can feel my mouth starting to water just thinking about him now.)I continue to stare at him, waiting. After a short time, he lets out a deep and sigh, looks down to the floor, and only shakes his head once: No.
Instantly, my eyes fill with tears, and I can’t breathe. (I wasn’t expecting this. POTUS does not cry ever!) He tries to reach a hand out to me, but I quickly step away. ‘Don’t touch me. Don’t ever touch me again.’ He looks at me with concern, but quietly mutters, ‘I’m the reason our country still has a living leader instead of a scorched body to mourn.’ I turn back to him then, walk over to him, and slap him hard across the cheek. (How DARE he?! But I still don’t know what’s going on…)‘That was my family in that plane. I should have been with them,’ I yell at him.
The door opens again, another burst of blinding camera flashes, and its my Vice President. He’s come to tell me I need to meet with my Press Secretary to draft a statement as to my whereabouts and why I wasn’t on the plane with them when it crashed. Handsome looks at me, and we exchange a painful look. We knew this affair wouldn’t result in anything good for either of us. (Don’t you know you never sleep with someone you work with?!) Never did I imagine it would end with my family dying in a plane crash while I got it on with Handsome here in the fake Oval Office (you know, the one the tours are led through. Not the ACTUAL Oval Office. Too many things of value there.) Nor did I imagine that a private tour was being conducted at the same time my legs would wrap around his waist. (Twitter-verse must have been in heaven.)
I nod, and prepare to follow the Press Secretary through the melee of reporters waiting outside the door.
‘You do know the truth will come out no matter what we say in the next few hours,’ he says to me. I nod, and say, ‘Next time I won’t be so stupid and we won’t be in this mess.’ I give Handsome one more long look and tell him to pack his things. He is no longer a member of my Cabinet. (GASP!)With that final word, I’m out the door, blinded by hundreds of cameras going off all at once.”
This is not a demonstration of how women wouldn’t be competent in leading our country. THIS is a demonstration of A woman who wouldn’t be able to lead our country:
“Refudiate. English is a living language. Shakespeare liked to coin new words, too. Got to celebrate it.”
Remember those words from our last election in 2008? They are from Sarah Palin, a politician who decided to comment about her bard-like brilliance on Twitter. Brilliance…is that what they’re calling it these days? Of all the women John McCain could have picked to be his running mate, he had to choose Miss Russia From Her Backyard.
Whatever. I’m over and so so SO happy McCain didn’t win. Otherwise who knows what Palin might have done, and in case you need clarification, I’d be holding my breath in worry, not in rapt anticipation.
Yoda/Kenobi 2016…Because they are our only hope.