Dream Date

I woke up this morning at quarter after five, feeling all warm and fuzzy and happy inside.

In my dream, I had been in an art museum, and Liam Neeson was my date. I think we were in the hall with the Romantic paintings, of which frankly I could care less, except Carvaggio was next on the agenda. Liam was saying something witty and informative, and bent to kiss my hand, for some reason. I was in delighted geek mode, because... oooo! Carvaggio! Sexy!

Yeah, that was like, the entire dream. Me. Liam. Museum. Then me, waking up, thinking, "Dude, what a great dream... I really need to visit the Smithsonian!"

Perhaps tonight I'll dream about Adrian Brody, and we'll tour The Library of Congress and get stuck in the section on Continental Philosophy, and by the time I'm through reading up on the latest Kant scholarship, Adrian will be all dead and mummified at my feet.

And tomorrow, I'll wake up, and have turned into Miss Marple, or else find I'm eighty years old and like to watch Miss Marple on PBS BBC, while knitting Red Heart acrylic kleenex box covers for my church's annual Christmas bazaar.