Three menacing dreams last night:
Some "fake police" were breaking down the door of my apartment. One of the cops had a machete. I gave Monk (Tony Shalhoub) his gun and an extra ammunition clip. Then I noticed there was a window and fire escape -- we ran out through there. But I didn't take my purse. How was I going to start the car without my keys? How would I survive without identification and money?
In the second dream I was living in an apartment owned by a poetry organization. Turns out a poet who harassed me into a closet with another poet was moving in. I told him if he came near me, I'd call the cops. Hopefully these would be different cops than the ones in the first dream. Either way I was going to have to move.
The last dream involved loan sharks. Chris and I owed a lot of money. The loan sharks stoles our possessions, but agreed to sell them back to us for just a few pennies. They also wanted their $200k. I had no idea how we were going to pay so I suggested to Chris that we pack our stuff and run. I put on my running shoes. Then I saw the hidden cameras and knew that wasn't a possibility.
So the question is, what the hell am I running from? Aside from machetes, poets and bills.
That's what I'll be pondering at our Superbowl party today. That's right, we're having a "party." I finally figured out how to get Gideon to clean. I tell him we're having a party and we need to get the house ready. He loves parties. So the three of us will watch the game and order pizza. Par-tay. I love this age. Well, mostly. This morning he drew all over the floor with colored pencils and cut up my favorite bookmark. I don't love that part. Last Sunday I dreamed Gideon and I were in a museum and I let him have the run of the place. He drew all over the musuem with a black sharpie. When I woke up I discovered he drew all over the kitchen with a black sharpie. That's not the first time I've had one of those prophetic dreams. I should stop here before my tales blow your mind.