I Dreamed

Last night, I dreamed I danced with a dead man.  He held me so tenderly in his arms, his every movement was infused with yearning for what could have been.  He whispered to me that he loved me, he needed me, and that he forgave me.  I asked him what he was forgiving me for.  "I forgive you for killing me," he replied.

Now that I'm awake, I know that I have no idea who this man in my dream was.  He does not look anything remotely like any man I know.  But while it was happening, it hurt so badly I felt my heart twisting in my chest.  I woke up sobbing, with tears just pouring down my face.  His image has haunted me all day, his words echoing in my ears.  And I still don't even know his name.

This is the first dream I have remembered in months, if not longer.  In my mind, it is as solid as a memory, not just a dream.  I have no idea why I dreamed this; I just hope it doesn't come again tonight.  I don't think my heart can stand to be broken this badly again, even if only in my imagination.

Wednesday Weirdness

Last night, I had a strange dream. Strange dreams are almost normal for me by now, but this was a really strange dream, even for me. I dreamed I was still a reporter and had to go cover the parole hearing of a Manson follower to see if she got parole this time. I arrived at the courthouse a little early and went to the ladies room. While I was in the loo checking my make-up and such, the woman in question and a man with wild, crazy hair and eyes burst in, held me at gunpoint and forced me to help them escape. That's when I realized the man was Manson himself.

Somehow (and no, I don't remember exactly how it happened), we got outside and to my car, but only after they shot and killed a security guard. They forced me to drive them way out into the country, where they jumped out of my car and got into a car they had waiting for them out near the water tower on Gunnell Road in Scott County (yes, I know the water tower isn't really that far out in the country anymore, but in my dream it was). They then shot me in the head and left me for dead - except the bullet didn't kill me, it just deflected off my skull and left me with a raging headache. I was able to make it back to my car and drive myself home.

When I got there, I immediately called Jessi because I knew she was interested in the Manson case. She came over and I told her the story of what happened, insisting she not tell anyone it was me who helped them escape because I didn't want to go to jail for something I was forced to do. (How on earth I rationalized that no one had run my plates or identified me, I don't remember.) Jessi agreed but insisted I had to go to the ER to have my head wound looked at. I told her she was crazy because they would report a bullet wound, no matter how slight, to the police and then they would figure out it was me who helped Manson and his lady escape. But Jessi insisted so we wound up at UK hospital where we ran into Jamie R., who was a nurse there. So Jessi starts telling Jamie R. the story, even though I swore her to secrecy. But Jessi replied, "Well, you'll just blog about it anyway, so I might as well tell her." About this time, my cell phone rings and it's Manson on the line telling me he has my son and he is going to raise him as a disciple. This is when I started freaking out big time and woke up.

See? Strange dream. Very vivid and much more realistic than my usual dreams. I think I may have to stop taking Zyrtec at night. I've had freakazoid dreams ever since I started taking it. Although I did watch a very freaky episode of Doctor Who about werewolves and Queen Victoria last night before bed, I doubt my dream came from watching that becuase 1) no werewolves, 2) no Queen Victoria and 3) no time travel. Only Manson. Lots and lots of freaky Manson. I can live without Manson in my head, thank you very much.

Dreams

I've had a dream in the back of my mind for quite a while - move to a tiny town that's eager to revitalize its population and gain more businesses. Get a small business loan from an entity that's willing to take a chance on a woman-owned small business and purchase (or construct) a quaint building in the heart of town that has room for a business on the ground floor and living quarters above, with a small plot of land in the rear on which raised garden beds can be installed. Then, I'd open a bookstore/bistro/craft store. I'd offer both used and new books, CDs and DVDs (with a purchase and resell system in place), as well as a small bistro with homecooked eats (some of the produce used would come from my raised garden beds), and yarns, knitting books/needles, crochet and sewing supplies. I'd also have a consignment system in place for local producers to sell their crafts, canned goods, etc. I'd even look into having an online presence, if needed. In the afternoons and evenings, I'd have storytime for the school kids, book discussion groups, invite local residents to host classes on handcrafts and hobbies, host writing workshops, blogging basics, and the like. Ideally, this town would be far enough away from a big city that it's a hassle for the surrounding communities to drive all the way to the city when they want a book, movie or to socialize, but close enough that getting supplies wouldn't be an issue, either, and it would be possible for Jamie to continue with his violin lessons. And I'd love it to be in a place that gets cold enough to snow. Is this a silly dream that can just stay up on the shelf in my mind, or is it something I should pursue? What do you all think?

Update (2/16/10): Thanks for the comments and suggestions. One question, though. Do you all think this is a viable plan, or is this type of business pretty obsolete in this day of Internet bookstores, etsy accounts and "free shipping right to your door"? Is this type of business doomed to failure? Or would the draw of a place to congregate and socialize, as well as participate in commerce, in a relatively-isolated community be enough to keep the business going?