These dreams

So, here I was wondering if I would have enough to write about, and then woke up so eager to post this morning, that the time it took to start the coffee brewing seemed interminable.

This morning I was dreaming that David and I had a condo, and that we had moved in so quickly that we had stuffed everything into the drawers and shelves of a multitude of bookcases and bureaus that lined the walls of the living room and kitchen. Unfortunately, this included a myriad of embarrassing personal items as well, shoved in willy-nilly with the household goods. My entire family had come over to visit unexpectedly, and I walked out of my bedroom to find people looking through the drawers, not maliciously, but because they needed this item or that. ("Oh, where would the tablecloths be? Can you find the coasters? Gee, look at all the books they have!") The topper on the cake was that three people were smoking, yes, SMOKING, in MY house! I ran about frantically shutting drawers, stuffing away incriminating items, and yelling, "Smoking? Really? In my house? With my lungs?" (I get asthmatic bronchitis) The dream took a much less paranoid turn at that point, and I decided that with my awesome new condo, I could host the next family picnic, which I promptly scheduled for the following day. (All the while planning that, in the next eighteen hours, I would sort through every drawer, in between grocery shopping and cleaning. And I wonder why having company stresses me out?)

Hmm. OK, so that dream wasn't as interesting typed out, as it was when it was happening. Well, there WAS a dream once about Mikhail Baryshnikov...