Dream a Little Dream...

I'm not Martin Luther King, mind you. I don't have a dream--well, not per se. Not that there's anything wrong with having a dream. In fact, they can be quite wonderful things, these "dreams" everyone seems to hold so close and so dear...

Then again, not all dreams can change the lives of millions. Take, for example, the other night when I kicked the bedroom wall because, as it was explained to me by Richard when I woke up the next morning, who then explained to me what I had explained to him in the dead of night, apparently someone was going to hit me with a baseball bat:

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Me: So... I kicked the wall?
Rich: Loudly! I'm just glad you were facing the wall and not my broken leg!
Me: And I said it was because someone was going to hit me with a baseball bat...?
Rich: Yep.
Me: Why would kicking someone prevent them from hitting me with a baseball bat?
Rich: As if I'm the one that lives between those ears.
Me: Was he cute, at least? My attacker? I'd like to think that only the most attractive people would dare to harm my person.
Rich: Hmm... You didn't say...
Me: Huh. My foot doesn't hurt.
Rich: I just know what I know, and that means that around 4:00 a.m., you decided someone needed kicked before they smashed your face in with a baseball bat. I'm assuming it worked because you seemed very satisfied that your short-lived Karate Kid attack was quite successful.
Me: Oh...

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I have no idea, ask my subconscious. All I know is, that example alone proves how dangerous and ineffective some dreams can be...

And about three weeks ago, he woke up to see me standing at the end of the hallway, staring around the corner and up the stairs toward the partially renovated attic. When he called to me to ask what I was doing, I replied that obviously I was waiting for the bum to come downstairs from his hiding place in the attic so I could arrest him.

I'm assuming that in my dream, I had real handcuffs and not the plastic ones I keep in the... Oh, wait. Probably T.M.I.

Of course, Rich is fascinated by all this. He claims it alleviates the boredom of being trapped in the house while his leg repairs itself, knowing that any night he may be given a glimpse into the strange and wonderful happenings of my inner brain.

But--back to me not being Martin Luther King--when I'm not being done in by an aluminum Louisville Slugger or capturing lurking bums in my rafters (Note to self: Stop watching the news in doctor's offices...), I'm making plans in order to make dreams come true! Just not on, you know, an international scale or anything. I mean, it's not like I work for the Make a Wish foundation or anything. Local stuff, involving Post-it notes, a calendar, and "Before:" and "After:" photos...

I take it you get the picture. And speaking of, this gorgeous pic of Keanu is purely gratuitous. Nothing to do with today's post except as a great segue into the fact that on April 15 I will be a featured author over at Indie Ink, a fantastic site where a new and different author and photographer are featured daily, and where I just happened to mention this beautiful specimen of a man! So go check it out!

Now!