<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3590503663239759136</id><updated>2012-02-02T16:59:47.667-05:00</updated><category term='rules'/><category term='bath'/><category term='path'/><category term='chicks'/><category term='ferry'/><category term='elevator'/><category term='restaurant'/><category term='in line'/><category term='wedding'/><category term='death'/><category term='Jeff'/><category term='competition'/><category term='baby clothes'/><category term='phone'/><category term='hair'/><category term='train'/><category term='airport'/><category term='homework'/><category term='wall'/><category term='salon'/><category term='travel'/><category term='crowd'/><category term='water'/><category term='thrill'/><category term='crime'/><category term='trees'/><category term='hiding'/><category term='ducks'/><category term='family'/><category term='Amish'/><category term='celebrity'/><category term='kiss'/><category term='running late'/><category term='salt'/><category term='frustration'/><category term='parking'/><category term='naked'/><category term='football'/><category term='driving'/><category term='work'/><category term='dance'/><category term='teaching'/><category term='patch'/><category term='car'/><category term='disgusted'/><category term='missing item'/><category term='baseball'/><category term='children'/><category term='business'/><category term='sex with ex'/><category term='soccer'/><category term='lost'/><category term='gunfire'/><category term='maze'/><category term='music'/><category term='cats'/><category term='school'/><category term='relaxation'/><category term='crafts'/><category term='time'/><category term='deceit'/><category term='parents'/><category term='paying the tab'/><category term='alcohol'/><category term='running'/><category term='pink slip'/><category term='swimming'/><category term='food'/><category term='color'/><category term='remodeling'/><category term='flame'/><category term='darkness'/><category term='queen'/><category term='religion'/><category term='buildings'/><category term='strangers'/><category term='smell'/><category term='writing'/><category term='Mom'/><category term='hospital'/><title type='text'>My Dream Journal</title><subtitle type='html'>Most mornings I remember my dreams...with great detail. So, I try to take the time to write them down. I often wonder if my dreams mean something or if it's just my brain filing various past happenings. At any rate, if you need a little strange entertainment, read on.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thismorningsdream.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3590503663239759136/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thismorningsdream.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Leslie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07102488509468093491</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9oM2c5exPpk/TUQt6PCYpGI/AAAAAAAAB1U/q21mQjxCrfI/s220/CAC%2Bphoto.png'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>36</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3590503663239759136.post-9072436810052812774</id><published>2012-01-15T15:05:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2012-01-15T15:05:54.542-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='smell'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='strangers'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='baby clothes'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='color'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='work'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='school'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='celebrity'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='salt'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='frustration'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='pink slip'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='homework'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='crowd'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Jeff'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='music'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='maze'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='food'/><title type='text'>Sunday, Jan 15, 2012</title><content type='html'>Apparently I was at work, but I was sitting at a student desk...in a row of student desks.&amp;nbsp; I was sitting at the far left desk in row two or three.&amp;nbsp; I was doing an exercise that required skills that I had; it wasn't all that difficult.&amp;nbsp; But everyone around me kept interrupting or distracting me...and it was REALLY getting on my nerves.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Rickey S was sitting to my right.&amp;nbsp; He had to keep telling me about his progress through the same exercise.&amp;nbsp; He was so proud of himself with every step he successfully completed.&amp;nbsp; At first, I tried to be polite and cheer him on.&amp;nbsp; Then I just smiled a fake smile.&amp;nbsp; But eventually, I flat out told him that I needed him to stop bothering me so that I could finish my own exercise.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The person sitting to his right was Sandra Oh (Christina Yang from "Grey's Anatomy").&amp;nbsp; She was also interrupting me to tell me how she was doing, though not as often as Rickey.&amp;nbsp; Eventually, I told them I was moving so I could get my own work done.&amp;nbsp; They were offended that I was so bothered by them, but I didn't care.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I picked up my things and started wandering the room to find a quieter, more isolated place to do my work.&amp;nbsp; I ended up at a very small, kindergarten-sized table with the tiniest chairs I've ever seen.&amp;nbsp; But I sat down to work on my exercise.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At first, I was all alone and working along.&amp;nbsp; But the next thing I know, there are others around the table...and snacks.&amp;nbsp; Kathy L was sitting next to me.&amp;nbsp; She picked up a jar of salt and said she loved the smell of salt, but noted that this was especially pungent.&amp;nbsp; She held it up to me and I smelled it and had to agree.&amp;nbsp; Then she stuck her finger in another jar, pulled it out and smelled it.&amp;nbsp; She pointed her finger at me and asked me what I thought it smelled like.&amp;nbsp; I told her it was sugar.&amp;nbsp; She agreed and our smelling game was over.&amp;nbsp; I'm not sure why Kathy's interruptions didn't bother me as much as Ricky and Sandra, except that maybe because she was talking about something other than the exercise I was working on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I finished my work and went to return to my desk.&amp;nbsp; On my way, I noticed that John M (the local principal, not always one of my favorite people) was passing out pieces of paper.&amp;nbsp; It was notebook paper from a medium-sized notebook, with the fringe still at the top of the pages.&amp;nbsp; I don't know how or why, but it was known that these pieces of paper were equivalent to pink slips.&amp;nbsp; As I was walking back to my original desk, I was curious if I had one.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was interrupted a couple of times getting to my desk.&amp;nbsp; But once I got there, I noticed that I did in fact have one of those pieces of paper.&amp;nbsp; I picked it up and it no longer looked like it was torn out of a notebook.&amp;nbsp; It was a 3" by 8" card stock quality card, mostly typed.&amp;nbsp; But in one corner it said, "2 weeks" written in ink.&amp;nbsp; On the inside, I seemed to be excited...though it was likely due to my co-workers getting on my nerves that day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I looked out the small window on the door, which was only about ten feet away from me.&amp;nbsp; I noticed that the employees in that room were getting the same information, but all at the same time, sitting at their conference room table.&amp;nbsp; They were crying, but not outwardly angry.&amp;nbsp; Eventually, they walked through our office, carrying boxes of their things.&amp;nbsp; It was obvious that they'd been crying.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I then decided that I'd clean out my desk.&amp;nbsp; At first I thought that I didn't have much to pack, as I didn't have much on my desk.&amp;nbsp; But when I opened one of the drawers, it was wide and deep, almost like a trunk.&amp;nbsp; I had a lot of non-office stuff in that drawer.&amp;nbsp; I don't remember everything, but I do remember: Jeff's old baby clothes, a black lace bra, two beaded necklaces (one red, one blue), gold earrings shaped like a flat diamond with the initials WS on them, change, tangled necklaces, and pens.&amp;nbsp; I got everything to fit in one Xerox paper box.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In a completely different dream (I know this because I woke up and wrote details of the above dream and then went back to sleep and woke up with this memory), I was in a room with Lynn G and a handful of other singers.&amp;nbsp; Lynn was our music teacher/piano player.&amp;nbsp; She was telling us what our performance schedule was.&amp;nbsp; But it was taking forever.&amp;nbsp; She'd start telling us something and would get off track.&amp;nbsp; For instance, at one point she said we were going to sing Tuesday.&amp;nbsp; I asked her which Tuesday.&amp;nbsp; She went into a long story about why we couldn't sing any other time, that Tuesday was really the only time that worked for this particular audience.&amp;nbsp; I'm thinking, fine!&amp;nbsp; But which Tuesday?&amp;nbsp; I just want to update my damn calendar.&amp;nbsp; What's up with all the back-story for each of these singing dates?!&amp;nbsp; I think she was combating our arguments before they even came up and was much more focused on that, than just giving us the darn schedule.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At one point, someone asked me if I was singing with Cliff M.&amp;nbsp; I told them that I didn't even know that Cliff was singing...and I mentioned who I was singing with.&amp;nbsp; Apparently there was a lead male singer in our performance.&amp;nbsp; This was the first that I'd heard that there were two male leads.&amp;nbsp; When I asked Lynn about it, she said, "You're not going to like it."&amp;nbsp; I remember thinking, "Why would I care how many male leads there were?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, I guess at first, we were splitting our group and each singing at half the venues.&amp;nbsp; Cliff was the male lead for one group and I can't remember who the male lead was for my group.&amp;nbsp; But for whatever reason, that plan fell through.&amp;nbsp; So, now we had twice as many performances to do.&amp;nbsp; I love to sing!&amp;nbsp; But I remember thinking, "How are we supposed to get all of these performances in?"&amp;nbsp; That apparently was the part I wasn't going to like.&amp;nbsp; And she was right.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dream #3?&amp;nbsp; I remember going through a maze of some sort with Jeff.&amp;nbsp; It was like a Children's Museum.&amp;nbsp; Each room had different colored walls.&amp;nbsp; They were bright colors: red, blue, green, yellow.&amp;nbsp; I don't remember much about it.&amp;nbsp; But at times we were sitting on square-shaped skateboards with four wheels.&amp;nbsp; But other times we were walking.&amp;nbsp; And I seem to remember that we pushed a button and a door opened, in order for us to go from one room to the next.&amp;nbsp; It was like going into an elevator.&amp;nbsp; But instead of going up or down, we'd simply walk into the next room.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3590503663239759136-9072436810052812774?l=thismorningsdream.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thismorningsdream.blogspot.com/feeds/9072436810052812774/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3590503663239759136&amp;postID=9072436810052812774' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3590503663239759136/posts/default/9072436810052812774'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3590503663239759136/posts/default/9072436810052812774'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thismorningsdream.blogspot.com/2012/01/sunday-jan-15-2012.html' title='Sunday, Jan 15, 2012'/><author><name>Leslie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07102488509468093491</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9oM2c5exPpk/TUQt6PCYpGI/AAAAAAAAB1U/q21mQjxCrfI/s220/CAC%2Bphoto.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3590503663239759136.post-4725072482489662127</id><published>2012-01-13T09:49:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2012-01-13T09:49:19.043-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='parking'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='driving'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='restaurant'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='strangers'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='teaching'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='school'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='frustration'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='paying the tab'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='alcohol'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='buildings'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='homework'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='car'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='crowd'/><title type='text'>Friday, Jan 13, 2012</title><content type='html'>I was in a classroom with lots of people.&amp;nbsp; I was one of the students.&amp;nbsp; We were all given an exercise to do.&amp;nbsp; I completed my exercise with no issues.&amp;nbsp; Then people started voicing their frustrations with the exercise.&amp;nbsp; So, I started helping them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The exercise was akin to creating a project structure in ERP.&amp;nbsp; I quickly realized that some folks were simply trying to create a project that already existed.&amp;nbsp; So, I was going around the room asking everyone what their project number was.&amp;nbsp; I remember two things about this exercise.&amp;nbsp; I remembered almost everyone's name and was embarrassed when I couldn't.&amp;nbsp; Once I wrote down someone's name and their project number, only to find out that I remembered her name incorrectly.&amp;nbsp; The second thing I remember was that some of the folks didn't even know enough about the exercise to know what a project number was.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, a third thing...a handful of people got so frustrated with the exercise that they gave up and didn't make much effort to finish it.&amp;nbsp; After writing down everyone's project number, I was going to walk them all through creating a project, step-by-step.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not sure why I went from student to teacher.&amp;nbsp; And I'm not sure who the teacher was or where they were.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In another dream, I was driving on a two lane road, following a few cars of people I knew.&amp;nbsp; I had four text books with me.&amp;nbsp; Two large books and two smaller books.&amp;nbsp; At one point, traffic was stopped for construction.&amp;nbsp; We got out of our cars and were sitting around talking.&amp;nbsp; For some reason, I pulled out my four books to show my friends.&amp;nbsp; Then traffic started moving and I put the books back in my bag and started driving again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In another dream...or another part of one of those dreams, I was with Terri R and one other person.&amp;nbsp; We were driving down a street lined by homes and buildings.&amp;nbsp; Kind of quaint.&amp;nbsp; I can't remember what we were looking for exactly.&amp;nbsp; But eventually we ended up in a bar...and Terri R turned into Stephanie M.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Stephanie knew exactly what she wanted, ordered it, and was enjoying it.&amp;nbsp; I was trying to figure out what I wanted, when a drink appeared in front of me.&amp;nbsp; The bartender (a woman) told me I owed her $4.50.&amp;nbsp; I gave her a $20.&amp;nbsp; I had no idea what was in the glass, but I drank it anyway.&amp;nbsp; The bartender returned with my change.&amp;nbsp; In that same moment our third person (maybe Terri R or Karen A) ordered a drink.&amp;nbsp; The bartender then took back my change to cover that person's drink.&amp;nbsp; So, I didn't get my change back.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We were sitting on bar stools on a slope.&amp;nbsp; I was on the downhill side and I kept sliding down the 'hill'.&amp;nbsp; I found this very annoying.&amp;nbsp; At one point, I was showing Stephanie how if I didn't hang on the bar, I would slide down the 'hill' and into the room full of tables and chairs.&amp;nbsp; I was even spinning in circles on my bar stool as I did this.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3590503663239759136-4725072482489662127?l=thismorningsdream.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thismorningsdream.blogspot.com/feeds/4725072482489662127/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3590503663239759136&amp;postID=4725072482489662127' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3590503663239759136/posts/default/4725072482489662127'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3590503663239759136/posts/default/4725072482489662127'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thismorningsdream.blogspot.com/2012/01/friday-jan-13-2012.html' title='Friday, Jan 13, 2012'/><author><name>Leslie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07102488509468093491</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9oM2c5exPpk/TUQt6PCYpGI/AAAAAAAAB1U/q21mQjxCrfI/s220/CAC%2Bphoto.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3590503663239759136.post-6623092218248901313</id><published>2012-01-11T11:39:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2012-01-13T09:49:33.570-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='strangers'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='naked'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='teaching'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='crowd'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='sex with ex'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='school'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='frustration'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='lost'/><title type='text'>Wednesday, Jan 11, 2012</title><content type='html'>Ugh!&amp;nbsp; I had another dream about sex with my ex!&amp;nbsp; I hate that!&amp;nbsp; And it wasn't even a good experience...except that afterwards (like hours afterwards), I asked him why he didn't seem to WANT to do it WHILE we were doing it.&amp;nbsp; We had a serious heart-to-heart and I think we ended up on the same page after that.&amp;nbsp; I remember thinking that I went from feeling like we were splitting up to feeling like we were going to be alright.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;JUST SO YOU KNOW:&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I haven't spoken to my ex since our son graduated from high school nearly three years ago.&amp;nbsp; I have no desire to see him or speak to him again...because of actions he's&amp;nbsp;taken in the last couple of years.&amp;nbsp; And I'm pretty sure he feels the same way...not that I care&amp;nbsp;how he feels.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In another dream, I was teaching a large class.&amp;nbsp; There were actually several of us teaching.&amp;nbsp; We were in one room and had to move&amp;nbsp;to another.&amp;nbsp; We couldn't find our original room at first, but eventually we did.&amp;nbsp; It seemed we had to walk&amp;nbsp;past it, turn around, and come back to it.&amp;nbsp; Strange.&amp;nbsp; But we got there nonetheless.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once there, one of the students said they wanted to know about something specific, and she described it with four&amp;nbsp;letters, like ADPE, but I don't think that was it.&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;As instructors, we were never taught this section of the course and told her we weren't qualified to teach it.&amp;nbsp; In fact, I remember telling her that I was under no obligation to teach her something that wasn't taught to me.&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;She&amp;nbsp;(and others) weren't happy about this.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I&amp;nbsp;also remember that the students (adults, though mostly young adults) were a bit out of hand.&amp;nbsp; I had to keep yelling to&amp;nbsp;get their attention.&amp;nbsp; Finally I told them, at the top of my voice, that if they didn't quiet down so that we&amp;nbsp;could get though this course, I would ask them to leave...and&amp;nbsp;they wouldn't get their qualifications for this course.&amp;nbsp; That REALLY started&amp;nbsp;ticking people off.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then Christina R. showed up.&amp;nbsp; I jumped on top of a table and got everyone's attention, told them who Christina was, and told them that although I'd asked them to be on their best behavior before, they had better be now that Christina was there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;JUST SO YOU KNOW:&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've been out of the&amp;nbsp;schoolhouse for a month now (woohoo!).&amp;nbsp; None of my classes were as large as the one in my dream.&amp;nbsp; Christina was in charge of all training NAVSEA-wide.&amp;nbsp; She did come to Crane a couple of times and even walked into one of my classes.&amp;nbsp; She was no threat though and the students were perfectly amiable before&amp;nbsp;she&amp;nbsp;arrived and after&amp;nbsp;she left.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3590503663239759136-6623092218248901313?l=thismorningsdream.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thismorningsdream.blogspot.com/feeds/6623092218248901313/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3590503663239759136&amp;postID=6623092218248901313' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3590503663239759136/posts/default/6623092218248901313'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3590503663239759136/posts/default/6623092218248901313'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thismorningsdream.blogspot.com/2012/01/wednesday-jan-11th.html' title='Wednesday, Jan 11, 2012'/><author><name>Leslie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07102488509468093491</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9oM2c5exPpk/TUQt6PCYpGI/AAAAAAAAB1U/q21mQjxCrfI/s220/CAC%2Bphoto.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3590503663239759136.post-2149124732325330191</id><published>2012-01-06T23:42:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2012-01-13T09:49:47.147-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='wedding'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='missing item'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='naked'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='hair'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='color'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='time'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='running late'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='kiss'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Mom'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='frustration'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='children'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='food'/><title type='text'>Dec 19, 2011</title><content type='html'>I had a dream that I was getting married.&amp;nbsp; My future husband was Keith M.&amp;nbsp; I haven't seen Keith in years and I've never dated him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In my dream, I waited too long to start to get ready.&amp;nbsp; I was running around all over the house (a house that was not mine or anyone I know) trying to get things together and finish getting ready.&amp;nbsp; The whole time I kept thinking that I wasn't going to be ready in time.&amp;nbsp; Ultimately, the wedding started about 20 minutes late.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My slip was too long.&amp;nbsp; So my mom and I were looking for safety pins to pin it up.&amp;nbsp; We were looking in desk drawers and on shelves.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After I finished doing my hair, I kept wanting to put my veil on, but Mom said I shouldn't put it on until AFTER the wedding.&amp;nbsp; I found that strange, but agreed with her nonetheless.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There was an out-of-control&amp;nbsp;kid running around with a chocolate ice cream cone, making a mess where ever he went.&amp;nbsp; I remember having to watch my step so I didn't slip in the ice cream.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My bridesmaids kept asking me which order they were supposed to walk in.&amp;nbsp; I remember Mykle and Terri, but I can't remember my third bridesmaid.&amp;nbsp; But I didn't understand why they couldn't remember the order.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Another thing I remember is that I'd never even kissed this man that I was going to marry.&amp;nbsp; In my dream, I KNEW that I didn't have a full relationship with Keith, but still I was excited by the idea of marrying him anyway.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When we got to the church, Mykle's mom came up to me and told me she had a surprise for me.&amp;nbsp; I opened the bag and it was a strapless bra.&amp;nbsp; It was then that I realized that the one I was wearing had straps that were wider than the spaghetti straps of my dress.&amp;nbsp; So, the girls gathered around me and I changed bras right there in the vestibule of the church.&amp;nbsp; I remember that the bra was pretty with one blue cup and one pink cup.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't remember anything after that...no walking down the aisle, no you may kiss the bride, no getting married.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3590503663239759136-2149124732325330191?l=thismorningsdream.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thismorningsdream.blogspot.com/feeds/2149124732325330191/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3590503663239759136&amp;postID=2149124732325330191' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3590503663239759136/posts/default/2149124732325330191'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3590503663239759136/posts/default/2149124732325330191'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thismorningsdream.blogspot.com/2012/01/dec-19-11.html' title='Dec 19, 2011'/><author><name>Leslie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07102488509468093491</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9oM2c5exPpk/TUQt6PCYpGI/AAAAAAAAB1U/q21mQjxCrfI/s220/CAC%2Bphoto.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3590503663239759136.post-1781695306867681</id><published>2009-10-02T09:34:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2012-01-13T09:49:58.877-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='hiding'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='driving'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='strangers'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='parents'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Jeff'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='crowd'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='running late'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='school'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='family'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='in line'/><title type='text'>Oct 2, 2009</title><content type='html'>I don't remember the order of these events in my dreams.  I just remember snippets of stories.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At one point, I was in a school.  Apparently I had to spend the night there.  MANY of us were.  But it wasn't organized.  There was no specific sleeping area and we weren't all on the same schedule.  I remember feeling like I needed to protect my flashlight so that no one took it because it was dark.  I was sleeping behind a school desk that I laid on its side, like I was hiding behind it.  Some people were walking around and coming close to my make-shift tent and I'd get nervous.  I don't remember why we were there or why I was all by myself...everyone else seemed to be with a friend or in a group.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In another part of my dream, I was with Jackie H.  We were going to our lockers to fetch something to play a game.  I can't remember the game.  But I do remember pulling something out of my locker.  Then Jackie said she wanted something else, so I returned what I initially grabbed and got what she wanted and started to shut my locker.  Then she repeated herself and said that she wanted 'this' AND 'that'.  Well, I had already grabbed 'this', but I stopped then to grab 'that'.  I was a little frustrated by the end of the exercise.  I do not remember what 'this' and 'that' were.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next thing I remember, I'm going up to Indy with family to a funeral or a wedding.  I don't remember the actual event.  I just remember walking up to it with my family and the reception afterwards.  Jeff was only 2-3 and was at my parents'.  I expected them to drop him off so that I could get him ready.  Instead, they waited until it was time to leave and just picked me up.  So, I wasn't driving like I expected to be and Jeff wasn't wearing what I wanted him to wear.  Once we were there, we got a call from my older brother.  Someone was supposed to pick him up on the way.  But since we all rode together, there was no room for Alan or maybe we just forgot him.  I gave him directions to the place and he said he was on his way.  But it was going to take him 40 minutes to get there from his place, so he was going to be late and he wasn't happy about it.  Strangely, I was using Jeff's cell phone (the one he has now)...even though Jeff was only 2-3 in my dream.  The next thing I remember, I was in line to get food.  Mostly there were desserts, but there were other things too.  I was in line between two people I didn't know.  And they kept smashing me between the two of them.  I kept telling them to give me space, but they wouldn't.  I think they were trying to get me to leave.  But I was being stubborn and just tried to find a way to make my point without leaving.  I never found a way.  Halfway through the line, I realized that I had lost Jeff's phone.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3590503663239759136-1781695306867681?l=thismorningsdream.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thismorningsdream.blogspot.com/feeds/1781695306867681/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3590503663239759136&amp;postID=1781695306867681' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3590503663239759136/posts/default/1781695306867681'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3590503663239759136/posts/default/1781695306867681'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thismorningsdream.blogspot.com/2009/10/oct-2-09.html' title='Oct 2, 2009'/><author><name>Leslie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07102488509468093491</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9oM2c5exPpk/TUQt6PCYpGI/AAAAAAAAB1U/q21mQjxCrfI/s220/CAC%2Bphoto.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3590503663239759136.post-6305584041711710521</id><published>2009-09-22T13:35:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2012-01-13T09:50:10.135-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='driving'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='hair'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='color'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='kiss'/><title type='text'>Sept 22, 2009</title><content type='html'>At first, I was at a fair of some kind.  And I was with Brenda R.  I remember noticing that I was wearing a short skirt and knee-hi's.  I felt like an idiot...especially since I hadn't shaved.  But Brenda told me it didn't look that bad.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next thing I know, I'm in a car with Stephanie M (who was driving) and Kathy L (who was in the passenger seat).  I was kind of sitting in the passenger seat and kind of hanging out the window.  I saw olive green 'heavy equipment' sitting on the side of a hill.  Kathy explained to me that they were used for work at the lake...unlike the normal yellow ones that we see doing work on the highways.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think we were driving around looking for something to do.  Then Stephanie saw Chadd M.  So, we followed him to his place.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When we first walked in, he was sitting in a chair with his feet up on an ottoman, reading the newspaper.  He looked much older than he is today.  For whatever reason, I leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next thing I remember, Mary Rose M joined us...and her face was part blue and part yellow.  She said that it was the result of a medical procedure.  She seemed to be okay with the temporary change, so we tried to act like it was normal.  Then I noticed that the carpet that we were all sitting on was also blue and yellow.  For whatever reason, it seemed easier for me to accept once I realized that she matched the carpeting.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eventually, Chadd was telling us about his business.  He was trying to get us to get started in the business too.  I told him that I was doing MK and didn't want to have to work two different businesses at the same time.  He was quiet for a few minutes.  When one of the other girls asked him what he was thinking, I said that he was trying to overcome my objection.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next thing I know, Julie G. had also arrived.  She had big, auburn hair.  At one point, she asked someone, "what does that mean to me?"  I took it upon my self to say, "Let's just say that you're a smoker.  What she's saying is, we're not going to hold that against you.  We're never going to say that your health would be better if you'd quit smoking.  We're not going to keep reminding you how much money you can save if you'd quit.  We will simply accept that that's part of what makes you who you are.  And we are going to love you anyway.  It's not going to keep you from being successful."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3590503663239759136-6305584041711710521?l=thismorningsdream.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thismorningsdream.blogspot.com/feeds/6305584041711710521/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3590503663239759136&amp;postID=6305584041711710521' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3590503663239759136/posts/default/6305584041711710521'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3590503663239759136/posts/default/6305584041711710521'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thismorningsdream.blogspot.com/2009/09/9-22-09.html' title='Sept 22, 2009'/><author><name>Leslie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07102488509468093491</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9oM2c5exPpk/TUQt6PCYpGI/AAAAAAAAB1U/q21mQjxCrfI/s220/CAC%2Bphoto.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3590503663239759136.post-2947791775042544374</id><published>2009-02-06T10:21:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2012-01-13T09:50:20.668-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='parking'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='disgusted'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='parents'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='cats'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='music'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='food'/><title type='text'>Friday, Feb 6, 2009</title><content type='html'>I was at a backyard party with friends. We were using the swing set as bleachers. The entertainment was going to be Miley Cyrus. She was wearing a really short dress/jumper. Strangely, she kept pulling up the back of her dress to pull her underwear out of her butt. It was so unattractive and I was surprised that she didn't seem to think this was a problem. Personally, I would have been embarrassed. At one point, she went up to her father and threw her arms around his shoulders for a hug. When she did, her dress came up nearly to her waist. Her father didn't even try to protect her modesty. I was NOT impressed. So, before she even started performing, I was already done listening to her. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was sitting in a swing talking to a friend. We were discussing how much tickets to a Miley concert were. And I announced loud enough for all to hear, that I have never, nor would I ever, spend that kind of money to see some teenage flash in the pan concert. I didn't do it for Britney Spears or the Back Street Boys and I wasn't going to do it for Miley Cyrus either. I didn't care how popular she was or how coveted her tickets were.  I can't remember if I left right away or after the music got started. But I remember being unimpressed and 'tired of it'. And I remember that when I left, the others stayed. So, the concert definitely was not over. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I got into my car to drive home. I think I was staying with my parents. But they didn't live in the home that I know as theirs. They were living in my Grandma Strange's house. On my way over there, I drove right past it. So, I tried to do a U-turn, but ended up on the sidewalk. I had to stop and put it into reverse in order to get back to where I needed to be. Ultimately, I parked in the lot across the street. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The front bedroom light was on. So I knew the folks were awake. I let myself in and proceeded to their bedroom. Just like when I was in high school, I sat on the end of the their bed and told them about the evening. My dad was disgusted by the 'flashing' images of Miley. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At one point Mom left the room and my sister Erin walked in. She didn't say anything, just curled up under the covers and listened. I was still talking to my dad and snuggling with their cat. I noticed that their cat's head reminded me of a turtle head or a snake head. He had pulled his ears back against his head and it just reminded me of a snake. I was fascinated and a little frightened by it. Also, he was laying on me stomach to stomach with all four limbs out to his sides, holding on to me. I thought that was a little strange too. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When my mom walked back into the room, she was carrying snacks. She said that they didn't have much variety, but thought this would do. I got up so she could sit down, as Erin was still lying on her side of the bed. And I decided to look around at the decor. I think they had just recently moved in and I hadn't really checked out the place since they had. I wanted to compare how they decorated it differently than my grandmother had. But I didn't go all around the house, just stayed in their bedroom. They had a large hutch with various things on it. And I didn't look at much else. I don't remember anything else.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3590503663239759136-2947791775042544374?l=thismorningsdream.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thismorningsdream.blogspot.com/feeds/2947791775042544374/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3590503663239759136&amp;postID=2947791775042544374' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3590503663239759136/posts/default/2947791775042544374'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3590503663239759136/posts/default/2947791775042544374'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thismorningsdream.blogspot.com/2009/02/friday-feb-6-09.html' title='Friday, Feb 6, 2009'/><author><name>Leslie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07102488509468093491</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9oM2c5exPpk/TUQt6PCYpGI/AAAAAAAAB1U/q21mQjxCrfI/s220/CAC%2Bphoto.png'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3590503663239759136.post-6295724289875926139</id><published>2009-02-01T16:44:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2012-01-06T23:22:15.896-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='strangers'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='color'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='work'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='time'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='phone'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='relaxation'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='lost'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='path'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='buildings'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='wedding'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='death'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='crowd'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='dance'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='music'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='business'/><title type='text'>Sunday, Feb 1, 2009</title><content type='html'>I was leaving a meeting or gathering with a large group of my co-workers. We went outside to this large recreational area. There was a volleyball court, a large putt-putt course, and an open stage where a band was performing. Between the sports venues and the flat ground and the stage and seating up high on the side of a large hill, there was a maze of pathways, stairs, and landings with tables (where people could sit and eat or chat). It was elaborate and inviting and beautiful with all the green grass, stone, and natural furnishings. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was waiting at the building entrance for a friend, Victoria B (a former co-worker), I think. She had to go back in for something and was going to be right back. I remember thinking that I was getting impatient waiting for her. A few minutes later, I was asked to move along because a large wedding party was coming out and wanted their pictures taken. I decided to go on out to the stage and hope to see Victoria there eventually. As I was making my way to our crowd of co-workers, Victoria was already there. I wasn't confused as to how she got there before me; I was just happy that she wasn't going to walk out of the building and wonder why I'd left her. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Victoria was all excited about who was going to be live on the open stage. So, we started making our way up the maze of pathways up to the stage. I lost Victoria again as we were climbing...mostly because I kept looking around at all of the people and the beautiful surroundings. But I wasn't all that worried. The music started and everyone began dancing. Not just the basic rocking back and forth from foot to foot thing, but really getting into it, spinning and leaping and moving out whole bodies to the music. It was so liberating. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eventually, I wanted to get back with my friends, but I couldn't find any of them. I was standing on a high landing and could see most of the people below, but they were all strangers to me. I remember specifically looking for orange, like maybe one of my friends was wearing orange. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next think I know, I'm naked and getting into one of the personal hot tubs on a landing overlooking the sports. I was going to take advantage of the alone time to totally relax. No one joined me, but there were others around, doing their own forms of relaxation. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After awhile, I decided it was late and I was going to return to my room. After getting dressed and starting down the maze of pathways, I finally ran into one of my friends, Tim B (actually, he's the parent of a kid I taught a couple of years ago, also the older brother of a classmate). We were talking about our 'missed calls'. I had three. One was a hang-up from a number I didn't recognize. One was from a guy I was maybe going to date, wishing me a Happy New Year. (Strangely, I don't have any idea who this was.) And one was from my former division manager, telling me she loves me, thanking me for my hard work, and wishing my a Happy New Year. I remember her message being colorful and sparkly. My friend had a similar message from my former branch manager. We were making fun of them...the messages. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then I was trying to figure out what time it was, so maybe I could call the date guy back. I looked at three different clocks and got three different times. And they weren't even close; they were HOURS different. Finally, I decided it was too late and I'd call him in the morning. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As I was returning to the hotel, I ran into my co-workers. They were all sitting together in a common area of the hotel, discussing other co-workers. Apparently, we sent a team of three 'south' for work. We just got word that two of them were killed in the line of duty. Bear in mind, our line of work does not normally entail someone being killed in the line of duty. But I don't remember that crossing my mind. I was just trying to wrack my brain trying to remember who we sent 'south'. Then I overheard someone say that John M (a co-worker) was the only survivor and he was due back in town in the next day or two. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next thing I remember, I'm in a cubicle with Sher G (a co-worker) and Jennifer B (a co-worker) looking at maps. They were large poster board sizes of paper and very colorful. Each one was for a cul-de-sac of six homes, three different styles. In looking at the maps closely, instead of solid colors, each 'color' was actually a pattern. It was very intricate and interesting. Our job was to try to fit the different pages together, matching up the street names, etc. We were not having a whole lot of success at this.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3590503663239759136-6295724289875926139?l=thismorningsdream.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thismorningsdream.blogspot.com/feeds/6295724289875926139/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3590503663239759136&amp;postID=6295724289875926139' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3590503663239759136/posts/default/6295724289875926139'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3590503663239759136/posts/default/6295724289875926139'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thismorningsdream.blogspot.com/2009/02/sunday-february-1st.html' title='Sunday, Feb 1, 2009'/><author><name>Leslie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07102488509468093491</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9oM2c5exPpk/TUQt6PCYpGI/AAAAAAAAB1U/q21mQjxCrfI/s220/CAC%2Bphoto.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3590503663239759136.post-5877456605073578070</id><published>2009-01-31T16:02:00.008-05:00</published><updated>2012-01-06T23:15:34.200-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='competition'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='crafts'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='missing item'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='strangers'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='color'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='work'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='frustration'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='business'/><title type='text'>Saturday, Jan 31, 2009</title><content type='html'>It was like my busiest day in 0554 crossed with an episode of The Runway.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was at my desk putting presentations together. I don't remember exactly what all I was doing. I just remember having several tasks to do and bouncing back and forth between offices. One of the things I had already completed was putting together a baby basket. I made a baby book and a blanket. I seem to remember that it was ultimately going to Linda W (a friend). I also remember that the items attached to the front of the baby book were starting to come off. It wasn't my best work, but I didn't have time to go back and do it again. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next thing I know, I'm sewing men's clothing, a pair of pants specifically. The clothes were all a shimmery tan color. We had two pairs of pants, a vest, and two tank dresses with a fancy material along the bust line. (Okay, maybe we weren't just sewing MEN'S clothing.) At this particular point, I was attaching a darker brown strip of material to the pants and asking another member of our team what he thought about it. He said it looked bad and suggested we not go with that 'look'. He was sitting at a table with his feet up, reading a magazine. So, his opinion wasn't all that impressive to me, since he wasn't willing to help with the work. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At one point, the Tim Gunn of the process (only this was a middle-aged woman in a skirt and jacket) was mediating a disagreement where this guy didn't want to work on a pair of pants and I was explaining why he should...because 1) the group agreed on the look and we'd already 'pitched it' to the powers that be, 2) he wasn't doing anything else, and 3) the rest of us were busy. He finally grabbed the pants and stomped out in a huff. The mentor told me that she agreed with me and hoped that we didn't have any more problems with this particular team member. So, I went back to work adding a lining to a vest. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was then that I remembered that I forgot to make the music CD. I was supposed to do that when I was in the office at my computer, but I completely forgot. The music CD is played while the models are walking down the runway. I couldn't even remember the exact songs or the order of them that we'd agreed to. Ugh, I'd have to go back to my desk and do that eventually. But when would I have time for that?! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I decided to tell another person on my team, John M (a co-worker), about my latest stressor. Apparently, I was looking to vent. So, I went to the room where I thought he was working, only to find the Tim Gunn lady. She told me that John went down to the warehouse to pick something up and she was babysitting for his things until he got back. I decided to get back to work rather than chase John down. Instead, I ran into him in the hallway. He was as stressed as I was about our chances of finishing our work on time. I said, "We have a problem." He said, "You're telling me. We have the James Brown benefit tomorrow night that we've hardly planned for because we're so behind on THIS" as he lifts yet another garment into the air. I'd completely forgotten about the James Brown benefit! But I responded with, "Oh, it gets worse than that." And we moved into a room and shut the door behind us. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Strangely at this point, John had on makeup or marker on his face. Something around his eyes that I can no longer pinpoint. And he had thick lines of red in the smile creases between his nose and mouth. It reminded me of a clown. Nevertheless, I told him that we didn't have a CD for our models to walk with during the runway show. AND I'd have to stop working on the vest in order to go back to my computer to make the CD. I was stressed because I needed specific songs in a specific order for a specific length of time...and I wasn't even sure that I remembered the songs and the CD wasn't even started. But we couldn't have the runway show without it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't really remember anything that happened after that.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3590503663239759136-5877456605073578070?l=thismorningsdream.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thismorningsdream.blogspot.com/feeds/5877456605073578070/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3590503663239759136&amp;postID=5877456605073578070' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3590503663239759136/posts/default/5877456605073578070'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3590503663239759136/posts/default/5877456605073578070'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thismorningsdream.blogspot.com/2009/01/saturday-january-31st.html' title='Saturday, Jan 31, 2009'/><author><name>Leslie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07102488509468093491</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9oM2c5exPpk/TUQt6PCYpGI/AAAAAAAAB1U/q21mQjxCrfI/s220/CAC%2Bphoto.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3590503663239759136.post-7725727677449258640</id><published>2009-01-20T14:20:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2012-01-06T23:09:56.388-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='strangers'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='football'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='hospital'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Jeff'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='crowd'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='darkness'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='religion'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='patch'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='children'/><title type='text'>Thursday, Jan 15, 2009</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;I had a dream about Jeff as a young child, maybe 5 or 6. He had always talked about "getting a patch."&amp;nbsp; Neither his dad nor I knew what that meant. But he talked about it regularly. I figured eventually, he'd have the words in his vocabulary to truly explain what the heck he meant by that.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;At one point in my dream, we were in a church. Not my church. Not even sure if it's a church I've ever been in. Instead of pews, there were chairs. And they were set up in a semi-circle around the altar. What seemed like hundreds of them. And the atmosphere was warm and glowing. I was walking around for some reason, delivering something to someone. Services hadn't started yet, so I wasn't being a distraction. When it came time to begin, I couldn't find Jeff. I was trying to look through the rows to find him. Someone pointed to the far end of the room, but before I could get there, the lights went out. Not a power outage, but a planned part of the service. Eventually, the lights came back up and I resumed my path to Jeff. I found him with a family I didn't know. He was all buddy-buddy with a boy about the same age. Except for his messy blond hair, I remember nothing about him.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;The next thing I know, we're in a hospital. I believe Jeff was a patient. I have no idea what might have been wrong with him. I just remember that he kept going back to the wrong bed. And he was still mentioning this patch that he wanted to get. I'm not sure where the patient that belonged to that bed was. But eventually, I learned that the patch that Jeff kept asking for helped to safe the life of the boy who belonged in that bed…the boy Jeff was hanging out with at church.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;The last thing I remember, we went to a little league football game to meet up with the boy and his mother. She was so thankful for everything Jeff had done for her son. She went on and on about it. I didn't know what to say and was uncomfortable talking to her for some reason. But the boys resumed their playing like they were in the church and nothing dramatic had ever taken place at the hospital.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3590503663239759136-7725727677449258640?l=thismorningsdream.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thismorningsdream.blogspot.com/feeds/7725727677449258640/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3590503663239759136&amp;postID=7725727677449258640' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3590503663239759136/posts/default/7725727677449258640'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3590503663239759136/posts/default/7725727677449258640'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thismorningsdream.blogspot.com/2009/01/thursday-15-jan-2008.html' title='Thursday, Jan 15, 2009'/><author><name>Leslie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07102488509468093491</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9oM2c5exPpk/TUQt6PCYpGI/AAAAAAAAB1U/q21mQjxCrfI/s220/CAC%2Bphoto.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3590503663239759136.post-4585100401091109889</id><published>2008-12-18T22:33:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2009-01-01T23:05:53.946-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='naked'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='work'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='elevator'/><title type='text'>Thursday, Dec 18, 2008</title><content type='html'>I was on travel with RW (our old branch manager). For some reason I took J. Not sure why, but he was definitely there. And strangely, I wasn't sharing a room with J; I was sharing a room with RW. Maybe I was just IN RW's room. I'm not sure. But my things were there and I had a key to his room. (I'm not sure what this says about my relationship with J, but I think it just points out that Richard trusted me with just about everything and I felt the need to be there for him at any cost.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't remember the first day of our training, but I know that it was behind us. Today was Day 2. I was in an elevator with RW and we were on our way to our training class. The elevator was moving and I was leaning on a railing. Not a railing that you find on the walls of the elevator; this one was right in front of the doors. We couldn't have gotten out if the doors opened because of this railing. And I was leaning forward against it, like I was looking through the doors. It was then that Richard came up behind me and held me close to him. I could feel his body touching mind from my head to my feet. (I picture him holding onto me like a three-year-old girl holds a very soft teddy bear or a non-swimmer clutching a life raft. I honestly don't know which is more appropriate. But don't think that something more sexually violent didn't cross my mind.) I asked him to let me go, but he didn't. I think he thought I was just being coy. So more forcefully, I told him that I didn't like it and wanted him to let me go right now. He didn't say a word and still didn't let me go. I finally yelled out that he had two seconds to let me go or I was screaming bloody murder. I then counted "One Mississippi, two Mississippi." He didn't let go immediately. So, I screamed out for help. Very loudly. This seemed to make the elevator doors open. The railing had disappeared and I was practically thrown out of the elevator. I don't remember RW pushing me out, but perhaps he did. (I equate this to RW's ability to toss us aside when we're of no use to him.) Thankfully, RW didn't follow me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now I was outdoors and naked. I don't remember being naked IN the elevator, but I sure was now. And I don't know why I wasn't in a hallway instead of outside, but I was. (I think this illustrates how absolutely vulnerable I was to the entire situation.) I quickly asked a couple of teenage girls if they had a jacket or something that I could wrap up in. They didn't, but turned to a teenage boy for his jacket. As I was wrapping his jacket around me, I remember staring into his face. Without saying a word, I conveyed a heart-felt thank you, but I also wanted to memorize his face so that I knew who to return the jacket to once I no longer needed it. I didn't recognize any of kids, but I remember thinking that they were so mature and grown-up, not pointing and laughing, but being as helpful as they could. I was touched. (I think this represents my need to have someone there who was 'good', kind to the core.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next thing I know, I'm back in the hotel heading up to RW's room so that I can get dressed and pack up my things. I even remember putting on black and silver striped spandex shorts under my pants. (I have no idea why!) Then I went to work…the office. In my dream, I didn't think it was strange that I could be on travel and that close to the office at the same time. I was sitting in 'the girls' cubicle (Wendy and Cheryl, of course). My plan was to vent about the situation. But they were hard at work on something and I didn’t want to interrupt them. Then Kim walked in. She was surprised to see me as I was supposed to be on travel. I quickly told her that I needed to get away from RW as he had accosted me. (That's the word I used in my dream.) Kim said that she'd handle it, but that she was working a hot issue with Wendy and Cheryl and would get to it as soon as she could.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I then was trying to figure out how to get back to my travel location, get my things out of RW's room and into J's room, and not miss my afternoon training session -- all without running into RW. While processing this, I realized that I was no longer in Wendy and Cheryl's cubicle; I was at my parents' house. I even remember thinking that even if I got back to where my training was, I wouldn't have a vehicle to get around in. That's when my mom reminded me that J and I drove out there. So, I'd have a car…but I don't think I know how to get from the hotel to the training class. About that time, a bus pulled up in front of the house. I just 'knew' that my friend Brandi was on the bus and for some reason I just 'knew' that she needed to head in the same direction as my training class, so I could follow her. So, I ran out to the bus to look for her, but the people on the bus told me she wasn't there today. (This is me feeling lost, confused, and overwhelmed.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As part of a different conversation at my parents', my sister said that she thought that our older brother Alan was getting us little Angel game controllers for Christmas. I confirmed that to be true because I had actually seen them…small, round, fuzzy, and cute. My dad tried to quiet me from spoiling the surprise on Alan's gift. So, I tried to change my story, but it was too late. (I don't have any idea what this is all about…distracted by something shiny, perhaps?)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eventually, I had to return to my travel location. So, my mom and my little brother agreed to help me get there. The three of us and J (I don't know how/when he got there) were in my mom's convertible with the top down and the windows up. My mom has no such vehicle. After a bit, we chose to take a left on a narrow street. (Wrong turn? Bad choice?) The car didn't fit down that street, so we had to walk. We got to one particular intersection where my mom pointed out that there were no traffic signs or lights. So, our decision to cross would be dangerous. But we did it anyway. Even my mom was running across the street. (Again, going against the norm, bad decision?)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next thing I remember, I was in my cubicle. (When all else fails, just get back to work!) DW (our new branch manager) walked past and noticed that I was here. He asked me where the heck I'd been, that there was a lot to do and it wasn't getting done in my absence. He was sarcastic and angry, swinging his arms around, eyes bulging out, speaking loudly without yelling, telling me that I was totally dropping the ball. I just remember thinking that I was actually doing work things, just for a different boss…a boss that tried to take advantage of me and hurt me. (This is me feeling like I'm damned if I do and damned if I don't.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then my alarm woke me up so that I could go to work.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3590503663239759136-4585100401091109889?l=thismorningsdream.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thismorningsdream.blogspot.com/feeds/4585100401091109889/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3590503663239759136&amp;postID=4585100401091109889' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3590503663239759136/posts/default/4585100401091109889'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3590503663239759136/posts/default/4585100401091109889'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thismorningsdream.blogspot.com/2009/01/thursday-dec-18-2008.html' title='Thursday, Dec 18, 2008'/><author><name>Leslie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07102488509468093491</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9oM2c5exPpk/TUQt6PCYpGI/AAAAAAAAB1U/q21mQjxCrfI/s220/CAC%2Bphoto.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3590503663239759136.post-8366849250091385584</id><published>2008-12-17T22:50:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-02-02T18:57:47.117-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='driving'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Jeff'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='school'/><title type='text'>Wednesday, Dec 17, 2008</title><content type='html'>I was driving J to school. We were in a car that was the same color as my car, but not the same make and model. It was much sportier, a Camaro maybe. I just remember that I kept noticing the hood as I was driving. At one point, I was sitting at a stoplight, waiting to turn left. Jeff wanted to go over to the Burger King to get something to drink. So, while I was sitting there, he walked right over there, across traffic and into the restaurant. I kept thinking that the light was going to turn green before he got back. THEN what was I going to do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Needless to say, the light turned green and J was still in the restaurant getting something to drink. I knew that if I turned left, I'd be going further away from him. So, I waited as long as I could, then I drove straight through the light, breaking a law to avoid upsetting J. Once I was through the intersection, I stopped…right there in the middle of the road…waiting on J. I knew I was not in a place I was supposed to be. But I figured there would be more chance that he'd see me there than if I kept driving. I just kept pleading for him to hurry up so that I could get out of the middle of the road.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Finally, he showed up in the parking lot. But he had to wait on traffic to get to my car. It seemed to take forever and I was getting very frustrated. I'm sure he wanted me to swing by and pick him up, but there was no graceful way to accomplish that. So, I waited…in the middle of the road. He eventually got in my car. The first thing I noticed was that he had the biggest possible cup of coke. Excess. J is all about excess.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My next goal was to try to get back to the school. This is where I started to lose it. I was over-reacting to everything, expecting the worst to come from every decision that I made. I just wanted it all to be over. Finally, I got to the correct road. But instead of slowly following the car in front of me, I started to come up on it, along it's driver's side. I shouldn't have. I knew I was doing something wrong. J knew I was doing something wrong. He even asked me why I was doing it. All I said was that I was trying to get AWAY from the other car. But I assure you, that's not at all how it looked…or felt.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ultimately, I veered left across incoming traffic and into the grass, swerved around a couple of trees, just to get to the school parking lot. Because of a creek, I couldn't do that. J was so embarrassed that he got out of the car and walked the rest of the way. I then turned around and made my way back to the road. I fully expected to be pulled over and was already developing 'my story' in my head. But I wasn't pulled over at all. Instead, I was emotionally falling apart because of the whole situation.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's all I remember.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3590503663239759136-8366849250091385584?l=thismorningsdream.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thismorningsdream.blogspot.com/feeds/8366849250091385584/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3590503663239759136&amp;postID=8366849250091385584' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3590503663239759136/posts/default/8366849250091385584'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3590503663239759136/posts/default/8366849250091385584'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thismorningsdream.blogspot.com/2008/12/wednesday-december-17-2008.html' title='Wednesday, Dec 17, 2008'/><author><name>Leslie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07102488509468093491</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9oM2c5exPpk/TUQt6PCYpGI/AAAAAAAAB1U/q21mQjxCrfI/s220/CAC%2Bphoto.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3590503663239759136.post-7626556001615236744</id><published>2008-10-03T22:22:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2008-10-03T22:27:36.422-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='buildings'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='death'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='car'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='work'/><title type='text'>Friday, Oct 3, 2008</title><content type='html'>&lt;p&gt;At one point in my dream, I was in a car with Curt K. (a co-worker). I can't remember all of the details, but I think I went to pick him up because it was raining. So, I would have been driving. But I distinctly remember running around the car as if we were trading seats. I also remember that I wasn't wearing any pants, though that didn't seem strange at the time.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;We drive by these three buildings. There were all on the same property, owned by the same company, and looked very much alike structurally. They could have been apartment buildings or office buildings; I could tell from the outside. But I took note that they'd been recently redecorated on the outside. The main entrances were on the short side of the building, opening to a long hallway the length of the building, with doors down each side of the hall. The new decorations consisted of a colorful, three-dimensional (like a pop-up book) flourish of color going from the ground and ending about ten feet above the roof of the building. It was the shape of billowing clouds. And they were different colors on each of the buildings.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;In another part of my dream, I was getting yelled at by my bosses, four of them: David (my branch manager), Angie (my division manager), a guy that I recognize from television), and another person that I can no longer remember. They were yelling at me for ordering a $500 fishing pole. I kept saying that, as a contractor, I really only do what I'm told, that I don't question a government employee's purchase request. If they tell me to put in the paperwork to order it, I do it. I went as far as to ask them that if one of them would appreciate it if I would question or second-guess something they asked me to purchase. But instead of answering my question, they pointed out again that it was a $500 fishing pole, meaning that it was obvious that I should know better.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;At one point, the TV guy pointed to the order form and spoke quietly to Angie that this is exactly the same way that Richard (my old branch manager) got these kinds of orders through. He was talking about the type of contract, not the fact that I did the paperwork.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Oh, I should mention, the order was given to me by Dan (a friend, not a co-worker that I would normally order things for). He's not a government employee either, though I'm thinking he was in my dream.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Ultimately, I got to leave the interrogation because I had another meeting. This one was in a large conference room with chairs lining the walls. I was not very happy after my recent butt chewing, so I was pretty much sulking in the back of the room. I asked someone where my 'stuff' was. They pointed to a small pile of things along the opposite wall. I went over and gathered my things (a Blackberry, a notebook, my phone, etc.) and returned to my chair. I proceeded to check my email and such. Mostly, I was distracting myself from thinking about the run-in with my bosses. I decided to send a message to my friend Dan that we had to talk. I wanted to warn him that he could be hearing about it from management about purchasing a $500 fishing pole through government resources. But I also wanted to give him a hard time for making ME order it for him.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Before I forget, I even remember my Blackberry screen. It was black with a jagged silver lightning bolt going down the screen, from one corner to the opposite corner. When I went to the option to send a message, there was the same black screen, this time with a pound sign at the top in that same jagged, silver font.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;As I was typing up a message to Dan, a young girl who had no business being in our meeting, said to me that she was sorry that my friend died. I knew she was talking about Dan, but I didn't really believe her. I went ahead and sent the message to Dan and hoped to hear back from him right away.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;JUST SO YOU KNOW:&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've never been in a car with Curt K. I don't think I've ever seen the remodeled buildings in real life. I don't know the significance of the boss that looks familiar to me from television. But I think it's interesting that I've forgotten the identity of yet another person in my dream…that's becoming a recurring thing for me. (I'm with three people, only two of whom I can remember specifically, etc.)&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;As for the purchasing thing… My previous branch manager had me do all of the paperwork for all of his purchases. I don't know the purchasing world and had a bit of heartburn with this. I was specifically worried about ordering something that didn't meet his specs simply because I didn't know what I was doing. But everything I did was signed off by a government employee, so it's not like I could do too much damage.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;I checked, Dan is fine. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3590503663239759136-7626556001615236744?l=thismorningsdream.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thismorningsdream.blogspot.com/feeds/7626556001615236744/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3590503663239759136&amp;postID=7626556001615236744' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3590503663239759136/posts/default/7626556001615236744'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3590503663239759136/posts/default/7626556001615236744'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thismorningsdream.blogspot.com/2008/10/friday-oct-3-2008.html' title='Friday, Oct 3, 2008'/><author><name>Leslie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07102488509468093491</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9oM2c5exPpk/TUQt6PCYpGI/AAAAAAAAB1U/q21mQjxCrfI/s220/CAC%2Bphoto.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3590503663239759136.post-7437723019152054237</id><published>2008-09-21T11:06:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2008-09-25T20:56:35.168-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='travel'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='cats'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='flame'/><title type='text'>Sunday, Sept 21, 2008</title><content type='html'>&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;I was cat-sitting three cats.  One of them was named Secret; I don't remember the names of the other two.  At one point, I was inside the house with one of the cats while this guy (someone I knew in my dream but can't remember now) was outside the sliding glass door with the other two.  He wanted the cat that I had, so we were going to trade.  But ultimately, the cat with me didn't want to go outside.  So, I had two cats and he had Secret.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Later, I was at work.  Peg S. was there, as were many others who I couldn't name now.  I was making two large pots of soup.  One was chili.  I think the other was something with noodles.  I was adding final ingredients and stirring.  Then I returned to our main work area.  That's where I saw Peg.  She needed a 'flame' to heat one of the pots of soup.  Strangely, the flame that was there looked like it was shooting out a laser beam.  We knew that was too dangerous, but we found it very intriguing.  The longer is was lit, the more intricate the beam became.  It started out as a straight line, kind of jagged with pulsating energy.  It was yellow, I think, reaching out until it touched something.  Eventually, it was several colors and appeared to be a structure with many lines.  Finally we stopped playing with it and got a working (safely) flame.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;The next thing I remember, I was traveling with Roger W. (my elementary school art teacher that I see occasionally at religious retreats).  By the time we were dismissed and allowed to travel home, it was going to take us until 4am the next day to get there.  Ugh!  I was NOT looking forward to the long drive.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;At one point in the drive, we hit a quaint, well-manicured town.  We stopped to rest.  While there, we were inside a HUGE building, like a mall.  Everyone traveled by way of skate board.  I had a difficult time getting my skateboard up on the walk way and a young gentleman helped me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;We were at the point where we were going into this one room in order to eat breakfast.  There was a young Amish mother trying to coax her little boy out of the pathway, but he wouldn't budge.  I know she was trying to teach him, but I remember thinking that I'd pick him up and move him instead of holding up all these people.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Eventually Roger and I were making sure we had each other's cell phone numbers just in case we got separated on the road.  Then another lady came into the room and made sure Roger's number was on my cell phone…but she thought it was HER phone.  We tried to convince her otherwise, but she couldn't be convinced.  She even referred to it as her Mickey Mouse phone.  Lucky for me, she didn't take it with her.  She sat it back on the counter and walked away.  I quickly picked it up and put it in my pocket, saying, "Does this LOOK like a Mickey Mouse phone?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3590503663239759136-7437723019152054237?l=thismorningsdream.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thismorningsdream.blogspot.com/feeds/7437723019152054237/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3590503663239759136&amp;postID=7437723019152054237' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3590503663239759136/posts/default/7437723019152054237'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3590503663239759136/posts/default/7437723019152054237'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thismorningsdream.blogspot.com/2008/09/sunday-sept-21-2008.html' title='Sunday, Sept 21, 2008'/><author><name>Leslie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07102488509468093491</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9oM2c5exPpk/TUQt6PCYpGI/AAAAAAAAB1U/q21mQjxCrfI/s220/CAC%2Bphoto.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3590503663239759136.post-129145789215506113</id><published>2008-09-20T10:54:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2008-09-25T20:54:07.642-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Jeff'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='gunfire'/><title type='text'>Saturday, Sept 20, 2008</title><content type='html'>&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;I was driving my mom's old '72 Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme and Jeff was with me. Jeff wanted to drive, so I pulled over to the side of the road, left the lights on, and got out of the car. But instead of just walking around the car and getting into the passenger seat, I started walking as if he couldn't have anyone else in his car with him.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Hours later, I was in a very large house watching television. It crossed my mind a couple of times that Jeff still wasn't home and I was concerned about it. But even more, I think I was hiding from someone and sometimes thankful that I didn't have to hide Jeff too.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;At one point, my Uncle George walked into the room with his hands in his pants pockets. I said hi, as did he. I was surprised to see him there. It was then that I noticed that my Uncle Joe was already there. I felt kind of bad for not noticing before, so I said hi to him as well.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Then the violence started. There were several men firing weapons. I don't think they were firing AT us; we just happened to be there. The first incident was only a few shots and a bunch of guys running around. The second incident was much more involved - more people, more gunfire, and it lasted much longer.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;At first, we just tried ducking and hiding from the bullets. Eventually, I found a great hiding place in a walk-in closet. I turned off the light and hid behind a bunch of low-hanging clothes. Again, I was worried about Jeff because he probably wouldn't be able to find me either. At this point, I hoped that he DIDN'T arrive until after the gunfire had stopped.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;JUST SO YOU KNOW: &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My mom really did have a '72 Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme. I recently saw my Uncle Joe at a funeral, but my Uncle George wasn't there. This home didn't look familiar to me at all.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3590503663239759136-129145789215506113?l=thismorningsdream.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thismorningsdream.blogspot.com/feeds/129145789215506113/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3590503663239759136&amp;postID=129145789215506113' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3590503663239759136/posts/default/129145789215506113'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3590503663239759136/posts/default/129145789215506113'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thismorningsdream.blogspot.com/2008/09/saturday-sept-20-2008.html' title='Saturday, Sept 20, 2008'/><author><name>Leslie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07102488509468093491</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9oM2c5exPpk/TUQt6PCYpGI/AAAAAAAAB1U/q21mQjxCrfI/s220/CAC%2Bphoto.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3590503663239759136.post-5957915307020189360</id><published>2008-09-11T15:35:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2008-09-12T15:54:27.116-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='crime'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='in line'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='lost'/><title type='text'>Thursday, Sept 11, 2008</title><content type='html'>I witnessed an incident (couldn't tell you what it was) along with several other people. In our attempt to report what we knew, we were told to go to a particular building. In doing that, we waited in line with our pieces of evidence. I was carrying a shirt and jacket. For some reason, only one of us could enter the building at a time. The rest of us were waiting at the bottom of the stairs.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As it came our turn to go in, this very kind, young lady told us exactly where to go. But for some reason, I couldn't get through the half-doors at the top of the stairs. I was trying to push my way through them and should have been pulling. I was resigned to simply stepping over them (they were just over knee high) when the kind lady noticed my struggles and helped me out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I followed her instructions as best I could remember, but got a little lost. I ended up near the room where the perpetrator was being interrogated. Another lady quickly guided me out of his line of site. She sat me down and asked me to do a written statement. As I was doing that (I couldn't tell you what I wrote), this lady began defending the man that I was writing about. Ultimately, she told me that I should just drop the whole thing. I began to wonder if she'd even hand in my written statement. So, I asked for it back. She became very protective of it and said that since I'd already turned it in, it was against policy to allow me the opportunity to change anything about it. So, she wouldn't give it back to me. It was then that I insisted at least on the opportunity to sign it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She seemed very upset that I wanted to press charges against this man. I told her that I wasn't, that it wasn't me, that I was just providing a statement about what I'd seen, per the request of someone in charge. I then told her that I wasn't the only one...that there was a whole line of people behind me, just waiting for their turn to do this exact same thing. And whereas I only brought in a shirt and jacket,t he person immediately behind me had 'the table'. Apparently, this was like the smoking gun of evidence in this case.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;JUST SO YOU KNOW: &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have NO IDEA what this dream represents in my life.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3590503663239759136-5957915307020189360?l=thismorningsdream.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thismorningsdream.blogspot.com/feeds/5957915307020189360/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3590503663239759136&amp;postID=5957915307020189360' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3590503663239759136/posts/default/5957915307020189360'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3590503663239759136/posts/default/5957915307020189360'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thismorningsdream.blogspot.com/2008/09/thursday-sept-11-2008.html' title='Thursday, Sept 11, 2008'/><author><name>Leslie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07102488509468093491</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9oM2c5exPpk/TUQt6PCYpGI/AAAAAAAAB1U/q21mQjxCrfI/s220/CAC%2Bphoto.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3590503663239759136.post-2810120003492746363</id><published>2008-09-10T14:42:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-09-12T15:50:12.449-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='competition'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='alcohol'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='strangers'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='crowd'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='religion'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='water'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Mom'/><title type='text'>Wednesday, Sept 10, 2008</title><content type='html'>I was sitting at the kitchen table in my parents' house with my mom and one other person (I don't remember who...again!). There was a knock on the sliding glass door. It didn't scare us, though I would have expected that. It was light inside and dark outside, so I couldn't see through the window, just saw my reflection. So, I put my face against the window with my hands cupped around my eyes, trying to determine who was knocking on the door.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There were two teenage boys there, dressed in dark pants and white shirts with ties...missionaries. So, I let them in. They started describing their faith while we all sat around the kitchen table. Eventually though, there were several tables in a much larger room with many people there. And others got to do their presentations as well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At one point, it looked as if all was about to be done. So, I got up to start cleaning up. I got a wet wash cloth and started wiping down the tables. I went from one table to the next until I got to this piece of machinery that desperately needed to be dusted. So, I started dusting it. It looked shiny and new by the time I was done.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Getting ready to go, there was a congregation of people near the door, but I can't remember why. It was like a bunch of people were waiting for the doors to open or something.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next thing I remember, several of us were in MY bathroom...my real bathroom in my real house. And we were drinking shots. The young missionary boys are gone by this point. The only other person I remember now is Ron W. (from work). He sat his denim cap on my washer, drank his shot, and then had to go. I asked him if he wanted his cap. He said that his wife was used to seeing him without it, so he'd get it back later. As we left, I noticed a full shot glass sitting on the shelf and wondered who didn't drink theirs.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next thing I remember, there was a competition, a King of the Mountain type of game. I can't remember if I was once a competitor, but by this time, there were only three people left...two women and a man. They were playing tug of war, trying to knock their opponents into the pool. One of the women pulled the man into the water in a way that defies physics as far as I'm concerned. I remember even thinking that during my dream. There was the pool, the guy, and then the woman. In that order. But somehow, by pulling on her rope, the guy ended up in the pool.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next event was the two girls enduring pain, a beating actually. They were standing 6- feet apart. Between them was another woman who was a very fast, martial artist. She was throwing body parts all over the place, hitting and kicking the two female competitors from head to toe. It was unbelievable how long they endured this beating. I don't now who won that round.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Somewhere in my dream - now sure when - I was in church. It was very crowded and I was sitting with three other people. I normally attend mass with my family, but not this time. I know that I knew them, but I can't remember how I knew them now. At least two of them were guys - the other was a girl, I think. It came time for communion. Instead of waiting our turn, we got in line early. I got the impression that we were hiding from someone, trying to get lost in the crowd. I would have thought that us joining the line early would have been confusing or annoying to the other parishioners, but it didn't seem to even be noticed. As we were returning to our pew, the guys darted out the exit and the girl ducked into a pew sitting with someone else. So, my head was racing, trying to decide if I should live, sit with strangers, or simply go back to my seat. I think I went back to my seat, though I can't remember exactly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;JUST SO YOU KNOW: &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I rarely invite strangers into my house, even if they're on a mission for the Lord. I have only done 'a shot' maybe once in my entire life.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3590503663239759136-2810120003492746363?l=thismorningsdream.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thismorningsdream.blogspot.com/feeds/2810120003492746363/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3590503663239759136&amp;postID=2810120003492746363' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3590503663239759136/posts/default/2810120003492746363'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3590503663239759136/posts/default/2810120003492746363'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thismorningsdream.blogspot.com/2008/09/wednesday-september-10-2008.html' title='Wednesday, Sept 10, 2008'/><author><name>Leslie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07102488509468093491</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9oM2c5exPpk/TUQt6PCYpGI/AAAAAAAAB1U/q21mQjxCrfI/s220/CAC%2Bphoto.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3590503663239759136.post-1448311953867806184</id><published>2008-09-08T09:53:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2008-09-08T22:27:43.148-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='travel'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='teaching'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='religion'/><title type='text'>Monday, Sept 8, 2008</title><content type='html'>&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;We were finishing up today’s religious education class. One of the boys in the class has brought in snacks that we’d be having for the next class and wanted to leave them with me. Not sure why he brought them in a week early, but it didn’t seem strange in my dream. So, I packed them with our school supplies to make sure they didn’t get lost.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;For some reason, our next class was going to be held in a different building…the church rectory, I think. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Although I thought I was the teacher, I was specifically asked if I would be available to teach the next lesson. I thought about it for a moment, referencing my internal day planner, then replied in the affirmative.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Later, I was in a large room with several people. I don’t remember what we were doing there. But my memory of the room was like our old cafeteria in elementary school, built long before any of us were alive. Old, musty, monochrome. While we were arriving and settling in, it dawned on me that I was to be on travel the following week and would NOT be available to teach the religious education class. So, I started asking the people around me if they’d be interested in filling in for me. Tina G., an old classmate of mine, said that she’d have to check with her husband, but that she thought she could. I started to tell her about the basket of supplies and snacks, then told her I’d follow up the next day (after she spoke with her husband).&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Then I remember being concerned that I forgot my trip the following week. I started wondering what else I might have forgotten. Or what else I might have planned because I’d forgotten my trip. Why was this trip so “back-burner” in my brain?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;JUST SO YOU KNOW:&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just this past weekend, there was a notice in our church bulletin about a meeting for the religion teachers. I have taught 7&lt;sup&gt;th&lt;/sup&gt; grade religion for the last five years, but intend to take this year off. I’ve mentioned that to one of the Directors of Religious Ed, but not the one that’s in charge of the older grades…mostly because she just inherited the post. Also, the last year that I taught, I did every other class with a friend of mine. So, perhaps that’s why I was asked if I’d be available the following week. Also, I have a trip planned in just over a month. It’s not specifically for the project that I’m working on and I’m not all that thrilled about going. Not to mention, I’ve been totally covered up by other aspects of work. So, perhaps this dream is a reminder that my next trip isn’t really on my radar yet.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3590503663239759136-1448311953867806184?l=thismorningsdream.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thismorningsdream.blogspot.com/feeds/1448311953867806184/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3590503663239759136&amp;postID=1448311953867806184' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3590503663239759136/posts/default/1448311953867806184'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3590503663239759136/posts/default/1448311953867806184'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thismorningsdream.blogspot.com/2008/09/monday-sept-8-2008.html' title='Monday, Sept 8, 2008'/><author><name>Leslie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07102488509468093491</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9oM2c5exPpk/TUQt6PCYpGI/AAAAAAAAB1U/q21mQjxCrfI/s220/CAC%2Bphoto.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3590503663239759136.post-7985736154125390385</id><published>2008-09-07T19:04:00.005-04:00</published><updated>2012-01-06T23:27:27.512-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='football'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='work'/><title type='text'>Sunday, Sept 7, 2008</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;I was at work&lt;/span&gt; (not my current office) helping the new guy (no one I currently know) with UNIX commands. I wasn't the best with UNIX commands and probably wasn't the best person in the office to help him. Nevertheless, I was. We got through it. He was patient with me not knowing the answers off the top of my head.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When we were done, I went to the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;break room&lt;/span&gt; to get a can of Pepsi. I put a dollar into the machine and got back a TON of change, all silver coins... and two large football &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;collectible&lt;/span&gt; coins that one might get out of a cereal box.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At one point I was talking to a girl with curlers in her hair. I don't remember when or where or even what we were discussing. But she had three pink curlers for her bangs and only one more on each side for the hair that hung down by her face.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;JUST SO YOU KNOW:&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have NO IDEA what this dream represents in my life.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3590503663239759136-7985736154125390385?l=thismorningsdream.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thismorningsdream.blogspot.com/feeds/7985736154125390385/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3590503663239759136&amp;postID=7985736154125390385' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3590503663239759136/posts/default/7985736154125390385'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3590503663239759136/posts/default/7985736154125390385'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thismorningsdream.blogspot.com/2008/09/sunday-sept-7-2008.html' title='Sunday, Sept 7, 2008'/><author><name>Leslie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07102488509468093491</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9oM2c5exPpk/TUQt6PCYpGI/AAAAAAAAB1U/q21mQjxCrfI/s220/CAC%2Bphoto.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3590503663239759136.post-1683784565823012069</id><published>2008-09-06T16:13:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2008-09-06T16:43:35.728-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='rules'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='swimming'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='hair'/><title type='text'>Saturday, Sept 6, 2008</title><content type='html'>I went to a swimming competition. At first there were only two women set to race. It was a relatively small pool, not many spectator seats, walls relatively close to the pool edge. We watched the race by standing at the railing around the pool and looking down at the swimmers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Everyone was talking about how the first race was going to be a blow-out. But more amazing, the woman that was supposed to win didn't effectively kick. Ultimately, her arms did most of the work. Everyone was amazed at how fast she could swim without an effective kick. I remember watching her kick as she swam. Sure enough they were right. AND she won by a large margin. They only swam one length of the pool, so the race went very quickly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next event that I remember had more swimmers and the pool was bigger. But it also required other people in the pool. Several women got into the pool to judge or maybe guide the competitors. Two of these women were in the three middle lanes, one in front of the other. And they were meticulous about spacing themselves so that the spectators could still see when each swimmer touched the far wall.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The stroke that the competitors were swimming was very strange. I've never seen anything like it before. The girls were swimming on their backs, but they were bent at the waist, putting their knees near their faces. The moved through the water by contracting their stomach muscles, which moved the lower half of their bodies (the part out of the water) up and down. This movement apparently was enough to force movement through the water. I remember thinking that it was the strangest thing I'd ever seen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next thing I remember is being able to do hair...in a very unique fashion. Four, maybe five, young ladies were sitting in chairs along the wall. I think we were still at the pool. There were instructions somewhere that told me what I could change about each woman's hair style.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The first lady was LENGTH. As her hair got longer, it was also fuller, bigger. It grew in much the same way as those little play-dough toys. But unlike the play-dough version, if I got her hair too long for my taste, I could dial it back a little to make it shorter again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The second lady was COLOR. I remember wanting to make her a reddish blond color. Getting it perfect was a challenge. I kept going back and forth between this much red and that much red. But I finally pulled it off to my satisfaction.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't remember the last two to three girls specifically, though one of them was CURL. I just remember that as I gave her more curl, sometimes her hair would get longer too. All of the hair came out twisted together. I had to pull it apart with my hands. Then it would be very curly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I remember that in order to change the amount or intensity of the feature that each woman's hair offered, I do it NOT by turning a knob or using a remote control, but by adjusting the location of a tiny rubber band near the end of a braid. I think it was attached tot he wall or maybe the seat each was sitting in, NOT part of her hair.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I also remember that one of the girls had quite the attitude. I don't know if she was always like that or if it was just a bad day for her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Finally, we were in the dorms and one of the girls was telling us about how they were a 'controlled community' to some extent. It was a conscious decision by either them or their parents to put them in a school that monitored their actions as far as what they watched on television or activities allowed in the dorms.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Everyone was specifically taught to respectfully answer the door and the phone. One of the reasons is because it could be the dean of students just as easily as one of their boyfriends.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Also, there were two different hallways: one for those who were messy and disorganized and one for those who were neat and orderly. And they respected each other's space enough to NOT to change the people in the opposite hall way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I remember telling them that they needed a high-tech sign when the dean or someone like that was calling...like all the lights flashing in a blind person's house. I just thought that since they were so consistent and dedicated to following all of the other rules, they deserved to know when the 'big guy' was calling.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;JUST SO YOU KNOW:&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;None of this dream relates directly to anything going on in my world...as far as I know. But as I was writing the last paragraph, my head was filled with the bible verse about not knowing when the Master will come. Mark 13:32-37&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3590503663239759136-1683784565823012069?l=thismorningsdream.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thismorningsdream.blogspot.com/feeds/1683784565823012069/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3590503663239759136&amp;postID=1683784565823012069' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3590503663239759136/posts/default/1683784565823012069'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3590503663239759136/posts/default/1683784565823012069'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thismorningsdream.blogspot.com/2008/09/saturday-sept-6-2008.html' title='Saturday, Sept 6, 2008'/><author><name>Leslie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07102488509468093491</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9oM2c5exPpk/TUQt6PCYpGI/AAAAAAAAB1U/q21mQjxCrfI/s220/CAC%2Bphoto.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3590503663239759136.post-2782934276598741929</id><published>2008-09-02T19:54:00.005-04:00</published><updated>2008-09-06T16:44:49.937-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='dance'/><title type='text'>Tuesday, Sept 2, 2008</title><content type='html'>I was at a dance tryout, kind of like the dance squad that I was on in high school. For some reason, initially, a handful of us didn't thing we were eligible to try out. So we weren't really paying attention. We were watching, but not really learning. But eventually, we were called down to the floor to learn the dance. We were all a little stunned, but more excited than anything else.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Instead of spreading out across the gym floor, we were sitting in folding chairs. One of the instructors teaching the dance said that if we were pointed to, that meant that we were doing better than the person in the chair in front of us. At that point, we were to trade places with that person. The ultimate goal was to 'blaze a trail' to the front row.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While we were learning the routine, I couldn't decide if I should watch the lady on the stage, who was facing us while doing a 'mirror image' of the routine (if she pointed to her right, we were to point to our left) OR if I should just follow the person in front of me. I opted for the latter, but quickly realized that I would never be better than she was if I was only doing what she was doing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After going through the routine a couple of times, we were free to practice on our own or in groups for awhile before the official try-outs. At this point, we were outdoors. My friend Jackie H. mentioned that she was going to call my cousin Carrie G. for help. I was wondering how Jackie could get Carrie's help in time for the try-outs, but I didn't press it. I just asked if Carrie had experience on a dance team. Jackie said she sure hoped so.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just before grouping up, it was announced that an entire team was withdrawing from the try-outs. They were mostly guys, dressed in purple outfits with glitter. I got the impression that they thought that this was a training camp and not an actual try-out. They didn't think they were good enough, so they bowed out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There were a couple of others that I remember being there: Chris W. and Bobbi H. So, I went up to their group to practice with them. I remember thinking that I knew the routine, but I really needed to work on my pops (popping each pose...not like we ever called it that, but I did in my dreams). As I was approaching them, there was one lady in a turquoise green colored leotard who was totally stressing out about this try-out...to the point of hyperventilation. I grabbed her hands, looked her &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;straight&lt;/span&gt; in the eye, and said, "Let's stick with what we already know. First of all, you are beautiful. They'll LOVE that. Second, you look like a dancer. That's definitely going to help. Now you just need to practice. You'll be fine."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She completely stopped crying and said a heartfelt thank you as she took a deep breath.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The only other thing I remember is that instead of playing the music for our practice time, we were trying to sing the song. Some people were counting, some people were singing, some people were actually calling out what steps came next. Each little group was doing this on their own, so it was a lot of chaotic noise all over the place.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't remember ever trying out. I was still in practice mode when I woke up.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3590503663239759136-2782934276598741929?l=thismorningsdream.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thismorningsdream.blogspot.com/feeds/2782934276598741929/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3590503663239759136&amp;postID=2782934276598741929' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3590503663239759136/posts/default/2782934276598741929'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3590503663239759136/posts/default/2782934276598741929'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thismorningsdream.blogspot.com/2008/09/tuesday-sep-2-08.html' title='Tuesday, Sept 2, 2008'/><author><name>Leslie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07102488509468093491</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9oM2c5exPpk/TUQt6PCYpGI/AAAAAAAAB1U/q21mQjxCrfI/s220/CAC%2Bphoto.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3590503663239759136.post-6948970402196118608</id><published>2008-08-31T22:49:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2008-08-31T23:05:53.321-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='crafts'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='family'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='frustration'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='deceit'/><title type='text'>Sunday, Aug 31, 2008</title><content type='html'>I was working on a craft project with my family, though I don't remember who all was there. I just remember that we had laid down a towel, folded in half, on the floor. The fold of the towel was wet and we were putting various colors of dye along the fold. But we were having a hard time because the towel was sometimes too wet or too dry. When it was too wet, we had to wring it out, let it dry a little bit, and start over.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It just seemed like we weren't making much progress. Everyone was a little frustrated with the whole thing. I'm not even sure why we were doing it. I think we were using that wet, dyed towel as our ink palette and pressing either material or paper along the different colors. But I'm not positive.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ultimately, everyone else went to bed and I said I'd work on it a little longer on my own. That's when I remember looking outside. There was a breeze and I half expected snowflakes to come down, but I don't think they did. It was then that I overheard a conversation, on the TV I think.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A man and his adult son were discussing their latest job. Apparently they owned a home business where they appraised people's homes. The son was telling his father that he had made several phone calls and couldn't learn anything about this older lady's home. He was ready to just make something up. The story that he came up with was that the home was previously owned by a man who inherited it, so he didn't actually have to pay for it. Hence, it was unknown how much it cost.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just remember thinking that they were being deceitful. Just something about their tone made me think they weren't being completely truthful with the old woman. Then I tried to figure out what benefit there would be to them to lie to the woman about the value of her home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't think I ever returned to our craft project.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;JUST SO YOU KNOW: &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have NO IDEA what this dream represents in my life.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3590503663239759136-6948970402196118608?l=thismorningsdream.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thismorningsdream.blogspot.com/feeds/6948970402196118608/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3590503663239759136&amp;postID=6948970402196118608' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3590503663239759136/posts/default/6948970402196118608'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3590503663239759136/posts/default/6948970402196118608'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thismorningsdream.blogspot.com/2008/08/sunday-aug-31-2008.html' title='Sunday, Aug 31, 2008'/><author><name>Leslie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07102488509468093491</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9oM2c5exPpk/TUQt6PCYpGI/AAAAAAAAB1U/q21mQjxCrfI/s220/CAC%2Bphoto.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3590503663239759136.post-2113916235179331964</id><published>2008-08-30T12:48:00.006-04:00</published><updated>2008-08-31T23:06:19.364-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='ducks'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='chicks'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Mom'/><title type='text'>Saturday, Aug 30, 2008</title><content type='html'>I usually pride myself on all the details that I remember from my dreams. This morning, I only remember two things from my dream. My mom was there. And there were little baby chicks. (Is that redundant? Baby AND chicks?) Actually, we kept calling them baby chicks until we finally discovered they were baby ducks. That's really all I remember.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;JUST SO YOU KNOW: &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have NO IDEA what this dream represents in my life.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3590503663239759136-2113916235179331964?l=thismorningsdream.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thismorningsdream.blogspot.com/feeds/2113916235179331964/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3590503663239759136&amp;postID=2113916235179331964' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3590503663239759136/posts/default/2113916235179331964'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3590503663239759136/posts/default/2113916235179331964'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thismorningsdream.blogspot.com/2008/08/saturday-aug-30-08.html' title='Saturday, Aug 30, 2008'/><author><name>Leslie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07102488509468093491</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9oM2c5exPpk/TUQt6PCYpGI/AAAAAAAAB1U/q21mQjxCrfI/s220/CAC%2Bphoto.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3590503663239759136.post-2762855073003520646</id><published>2008-08-28T08:12:00.010-04:00</published><updated>2008-08-28T21:14:12.338-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='bath'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='running late'/><title type='text'>Thursday, Aug 8, 2008</title><content type='html'>&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;I was going over to Sandy's house with friends. I think I was dropping off kids for her to babysit for. I couldn't stay long because I had to get to church; I was the canter. But while there, Sandy wanted to show me the changes she made to a banner she was making for me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;It was approximately 2 1/2' by 2 1/2', mostly light blue in color. It had words across the top, though I don't remember what they said. And along the left side, there was a white piece of material with white letter stenciled on it. It was very subtle but noticeable. There was also red material and gold glitter on the main body of the banner.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Sandy said that she hoped I didn't mind that she copied from my website a little, but instead of having the words on the white panel appear vertically, it might be better if they were horizontal. I apparently asked that they be displayed vertically along the left side of the banner. Sandy tried that, but couldn't get everything to fit just right, so she removed the lettering…leaving the shiny, white residue that we could see now…a very interesting feature. As she was telling me this, she was using a small ruler to 'scrape off' the old letters and flatten the banner. I agreed with her assessment.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;I then went to church. I was whining (jokingly) to someone (I don't remember who was with me) that I couldn't believe Mom had left without me. She was the lector for the same mass that I was the canter for. I got to the church RIGHT before mass started. And I was showing my friend to her seat, when I noticed that the organist was leaning over the side of the choir loft, looking for me. So, I immediately made my way upstairs. The organist was Sandy. It never crossed my mind to wonder how she got there before me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;In another part of my dream (or perhaps a different dream), I was in a house that wasn't my own. And I wasn't alone. I think we were house-sitting, but perhaps we were just visiting. I decided to take a nice, long, hot bath. Unfortunately, I could only find a shower…and even that was difficult to find. It was in a closet. I opened a door, walked past clothes hanging on both sides of me and there was the shower in the back of this fairly large closet. The only reason I found it there was because I heard the water running. I don’t know why the water was running. The shower was large, a deep mulberry color, and had a bench seat. I figured out that once I closed the drain, the front wall of the shower came up out of the floor and sealed, making a deep bath tub. Ahhh, I was going to get to take my long, hot bath after all. But since all of this took me so long, as I was filling up the tub, the homeowners came home and I had to quickly stop my bath time plans.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;JUST SO YOU KNOW:&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am scheduled to canter at mass this weekend and Sandy is the organist that I'll be working with. But I've never been to her house, couldn't even tell you where it is. I don't have kids that she could babysit for and don't even know if she babysits. Her twins are in the same grade as my son, seniors in high school.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;I have no idea what the symbolism of the banner or its coloring is. I'm also at a loss about the whole shower scene.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3590503663239759136-2762855073003520646?l=thismorningsdream.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thismorningsdream.blogspot.com/feeds/2762855073003520646/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3590503663239759136&amp;postID=2762855073003520646' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3590503663239759136/posts/default/2762855073003520646'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3590503663239759136/posts/default/2762855073003520646'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thismorningsdream.blogspot.com/2008/08/thursday-aug-8-08-am.html' title='Thursday, Aug 8, 2008'/><author><name>Leslie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07102488509468093491</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9oM2c5exPpk/TUQt6PCYpGI/AAAAAAAAB1U/q21mQjxCrfI/s220/CAC%2Bphoto.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3590503663239759136.post-8173507684185474841</id><published>2008-06-11T20:26:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2008-08-28T21:14:33.094-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='thrill'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='hiding'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='restaurant'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='salon'/><title type='text'>Friday, June 11, 2008</title><content type='html'>I was working with Nancy S. (former teacher) and a couple of others I don't remember in a large warehouse kind of building. At one point, we had to move a very tall ladder from one end of the room to the other. It was difficult to move because of its height of about 30 feet or more. We kept hitting the ceiling. Once we got it set up, it was like a carnival ride. I was sitting on the ladder with several other people. And I was clinging to Rick B. (a co-worker). Then the ride began. It went around and around. And as it picked up speed, it went higher off the ground. It was really fun, but a little scary too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After that, Sue D. (from my hometown) was polishing my nails. She poured a white powder on them and then used a heat tool to finish the process. It was like me heat embossing greeting cards. Although the powder was white, the nails turned out a bright reddish-pink color. And they were huge!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At this point, we weren't in a warehouse. I was sitting in a beauty shop. Sue did nails and hair. But in the same room was a bar/restaurant that Sue was in charge of. At one point, I heard her tell one of the waitresses to tell Adam A. (son of a friend) that he had to leave. I’m not sure why. And I don’t remember Adam ever leaving. I also noticed that all of the staff was wearing baseball caps.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When Sue was done with my nails, she told me how much I owed her and I went out to my car to get my checkbook. I had to walk through the bar/restaurant. I noticed that no one was actually working. They were all sitting on the lounge chairs just hanging out. It was difficult to tell who was an employee and who was a patron. Anyway, I went out to my car, got my checkbook, went back in, paid my bill, and left.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This time, my car was in a different place, in a lined, paved parking lot instead of a gravel lot. I also remember wanting to sneak into the baseball field. So, I started walking that way. Just before I got there, a car was coming. So, I threw myself to the ground and rolled under my car in order to hide. In no time at all, I found that I was hiding with three other people, all also wearing denim shirts. I actually saw their reflections in the chrome parts of my car before I actually saw them. One of them was Larry A. (an old boss). Apparently we all wanted to sneak into the baseball field. We had just started discussing if we were still going to do this, now together instead of individually, when I woke up. I don't remember anything after that.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3590503663239759136-8173507684185474841?l=thismorningsdream.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thismorningsdream.blogspot.com/feeds/8173507684185474841/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3590503663239759136&amp;postID=8173507684185474841' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3590503663239759136/posts/default/8173507684185474841'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3590503663239759136/posts/default/8173507684185474841'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thismorningsdream.blogspot.com/2008/08/friday-june-11-08-am.html' title='Friday, June 11, 2008'/><author><name>Leslie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07102488509468093491</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9oM2c5exPpk/TUQt6PCYpGI/AAAAAAAAB1U/q21mQjxCrfI/s220/CAC%2Bphoto.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3590503663239759136.post-4830482894340234778</id><published>2008-03-26T20:34:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2008-08-28T21:14:53.920-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='restaurant'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='paying the tab'/><title type='text'>Wednesday, March 26, 2008</title><content type='html'>I had another dream where I was trying to pay my tab at a restaurant and I couldn't seem to accomplish that simple task.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At first, I was at a craft show of sorts. I remember that Mom had a couple of antiques that she was trying to sell and they were marked down really low. They looked to be worth something. But when we asked her about it, she said that she never expected to get out of them what they were worth. So, she was okay with getting at least something for them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Next I remember talking to Michelle (my sister-in-law) about a mutual friend's home business...still at this craft show I can't remember who the friend was though. But this friend was also at the craft show selling her merchandise. And Michelle kept trying to get her to be more driven, more ambitious. This friend was doing a pretty good job making sales. But she wasn't being very fast. Her customers were waiting for her constantly. Michelle offered to help her, by showing her ways to be more efficient, but our friend wouldn't (or couldn't) adjust. At the end of the day, our friend was satisfied with the money she made, but Michelle was convinced that she could have made 2-3 times what she did.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then we went to get something to eat. At this point, I was with Mykle and Terri (good friends of mine) and one other person. (I've noticed in my dreams that I'm regularly forgetting the identity of one person.) We asked for our meals in ‘to go’ boxes. It took awhile to get them and we just chatted about things while we waited. But as soon as our food came out, we felt rushed to get out of the restaurant. Our ‘to go’ boxes were delivered to us on trays. So, we went to put the trays in this bin and leave. After taking our food out to the vehicle, I realized that I hadn't paid for mine. I'm not sure how or when the others paid for theirs; we were together the entire time. But when I went back into the restaurant by myself to pay for my lunch, I couldn't get anyone to wait on me. I was part of a long line (much like my previous dream about checking out of a restaurant) and we were roaming around trying to find someone who would allow us to pay for our meals so that we could leave. We even went up to two different cash registers, only to be told that they couldn't help us.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3590503663239759136-4830482894340234778?l=thismorningsdream.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thismorningsdream.blogspot.com/feeds/4830482894340234778/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3590503663239759136&amp;postID=4830482894340234778' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3590503663239759136/posts/default/4830482894340234778'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3590503663239759136/posts/default/4830482894340234778'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thismorningsdream.blogspot.com/2008/08/wednesday-march-26-08.html' title='Wednesday, March 26, 2008'/><author><name>Leslie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07102488509468093491</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9oM2c5exPpk/TUQt6PCYpGI/AAAAAAAAB1U/q21mQjxCrfI/s220/CAC%2Bphoto.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3590503663239759136.post-2109626500630186415</id><published>2008-03-05T20:38:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2008-08-28T21:15:29.129-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='queen'/><title type='text'>Wednesday, March 5, 2008</title><content type='html'>In my dream last night, I was voted homecoming queen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I remember that I was on a dance team, like the ones that dance during halftime of high school basketball games. (By the way, I happened to be on just such a team when I was in high school. Oh, and I wasn't even NOMINATED for ANY queen!) But in my dream, I wasn't going to get to dance unless I lost 40 pounds...as if that could actually happen during the course of one basketball season. But because I was voted homecoming queen, I didn't have to worry about losing the weight right away because I wouldn't be dancing. They also told me that I couldn't tell anyone until it was announced at the game. I'm not sure why I was told ahead of time. But I remember thinking that everyone was going to know think that I wasn't dancing because I couldn't lose the weight, NOT because I was the queen. I wanted so much to tell people the truth, but I wasn't allowed to say a word.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3590503663239759136-2109626500630186415?l=thismorningsdream.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thismorningsdream.blogspot.com/feeds/2109626500630186415/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3590503663239759136&amp;postID=2109626500630186415' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3590503663239759136/posts/default/2109626500630186415'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3590503663239759136/posts/default/2109626500630186415'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thismorningsdream.blogspot.com/2008/03/wednesday-march-5-08.html' title='Wednesday, March 5, 2008'/><author><name>Leslie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07102488509468093491</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9oM2c5exPpk/TUQt6PCYpGI/AAAAAAAAB1U/q21mQjxCrfI/s220/CAC%2Bphoto.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3590503663239759136.post-4374907795039712975</id><published>2008-02-22T20:40:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2008-08-28T21:15:53.516-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='ferry'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='missing item'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='travel'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='airport'/><title type='text'>Friday, February 22, 2008</title><content type='html'>The first thing I remember was I was walking down the hall at work. John W. was standing in front of the door that leads downstairs. And he’s whispering loudly for me to hurry up or I’ll miss it. So, I hurry to where he’s standing and see his kids playing on the stairwell. In my dream, I remember thinking that we had just talked about how I’d never met his wife and kids before, so it was ironic that I had this opportunity so soon after that conversation. I also remember thinking that these kids didn’t look anything like the pictures on John’s desk.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I asked John where his wife was. He said that we needed to go pick her up. So we (me, John, and his son and daughter) all go down to John’s car to leave. I knew that John needed to pick up his wife, but I was hoping that he’d drop me off at my car first. But that didn’t happen. I just kept thinking that I needed to get to my car. At one point, I remembered that my duffle bag was sitting next to my car and might get taken by a stranger. When I mentioned this to John, he told me not to worry about it, that it would probably be fine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next thing I remember is walking up to my desk in a classroom and seeing my duffle bag there. I was so thankful that it wasn’t lost or stolen, but wondered how it got there and wasn’t with my car. Ultimately though, I was just thankful that I didn’t have to go back and search for it. I opened it to make sure that all of my stuff was in it. I only remember seeing a four-pack of children’s glasses, colorful plastic frames with black, reflective lenses. I remember imagining which color might look best on me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After class was over, some of us decided to go out for happy hour. I was now wearing a dress and all decked out for a nice party. The room we were in was more like an airport terminal. There were lots of people sitting in chairs waiting for something when we walked in. Because there were no chairs left, we stood with our drinks and snacks, dancing to the music and talking and laughing. I remember I was holding a small bag of chips. I offered one to anyone that was talking to me. And everyone was taking them, but the bag of chips never seemed to be empty. Then Jackie H.(a friend and classmate) went to take a chip out of the bag and got a big bunch of them. She kept trying to put some back, but they seemed to be connected by a string. Every time she pulled away from the bag, all the chips came with her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next thing I remember was that Jackie was taking me back to my car. But we had to take the ferry to get there. And this wasn’t the huge ferry like I’ve been on between Bainbridge Island and Seattle. This was only for people, no cars. When we got to the place where the ferry would pick us up, Jackie told me to grab the leash for the dog. I didn’t even realize we had a dog with us until she said that. AND when we got out of the car, my parents were there to wish me off, like I was going away on some long trip. My brother questioned whether we were on the right dock for my ferry and Jackie, while playing with the dog, said that she was sure we were in the right place.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don’t remember much else after that. But I do remember having a conversation with a woman while on the ferry. She was busy doing something and I was just sitting in my seat. She kept talking about an old boyfriend of mine, Darren G., in the past tense. (In my dream, I knew that she was the woman he married, but she didn't know that I was his ex-girlfriend. In real life, I've never met this woman and don't even know what she looks like.) Finally, I got up the nerve to interrupt her story and ask her if Darren was dead. She said that yes, he had passed away when one of his patients shocked him. Apparently, that patient had a history of doing such things, but Darren thought he would be okay. I just remember thinking that it was so sad for someone that young to die that way. I also remember wondering when Darren went into medicine; he’d always worked in computer support when I knew him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don’t know where this part falls into my dream sequentially, and maybe it’s a completely different dream. But I remember that four of us from the office were traveling together. I remember Richard and Mike (co-workers) being there with me, but I can’t remember who the fourth person was. We parked our cars together prior to traveling and now we were returning to pick up our cars. All four of them were totaled. They were still in their parking spaces exactly where we left them. But they were completely mangled, doors gone, windows broken, dents and scratches everywhere. Strangely, I remember my car being the orange VW Bug, though that’s what Richard drives in real life. I remember wondering if my car was at least good enough to drive home. Richard thought that was ridiculous and said that he was spending his day shopping for a new car. And Mike was sitting on a bench, counting his money to decide if he had enough money to get another car. I just remember thinking that I wasn’t going to worry about buying another car today without doing any research. I just needed to be able to get home in my wrecked car.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3590503663239759136-4374907795039712975?l=thismorningsdream.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thismorningsdream.blogspot.com/feeds/4374907795039712975/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3590503663239759136&amp;postID=4374907795039712975' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3590503663239759136/posts/default/4374907795039712975'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3590503663239759136/posts/default/4374907795039712975'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thismorningsdream.blogspot.com/2008/08/friday-february-22-08.html' title='Friday, February 22, 2008'/><author><name>Leslie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07102488509468093491</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9oM2c5exPpk/TUQt6PCYpGI/AAAAAAAAB1U/q21mQjxCrfI/s220/CAC%2Bphoto.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3590503663239759136.post-7724857558312648304</id><published>2008-02-09T20:45:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-08-28T20:52:31.180-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='driving'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='parents'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='football'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Amish'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='remodeling'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='baseball'/><title type='text'>Saturday, February 9, 2008</title><content type='html'>The first thing I remember is driving down an old country road with a car full of kids. But we had to take a detour because at one point in a small town, there was a congregation of Amish people having services in the middle of the road. A woman was speaking to the crowd of both men and women (would THAT ever happen?) about the correct roles of each gender in a marriage.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After our detour, we ended up at an Amish home. I'm not sure why that was our destination, except that I think it was for a religion lesson. We weren't Amish, but wanted to learn more about their religion. I don't think we were there very long. But I remember Brenda and Linda (friends from my church) being there, both with whom I've taught 7th grade religion. And we took attendance. We were missing one student, Wayling, a girl. I don't know anyone named Wayling, but I have two Waylon's in my class this year, both boys. Anyway, I remember thinking that if you pronounce her name with the accent on the second syllable, it sounds Oriental, Way-LING.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Before we left, we discussed starting up a Relay for Life team for the kids. I remember asking Linda if we should start that in March or April. After going back and forth a couple of times, we decided on late March.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Before I forget, the walls in the house were purple, much like my bedroom.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As we were leaving, one of the girls started crying and ran ahead to the car. I told the other kids to sit together on the grass and I ran after the crying girl; I can't remember her name. When I asked her what was wrong, between sobs she said, "While walking down the driveway, I was seduced." (This is not the word to describe what happened to her, but in my dream that was the word she used.) I told her she'd be okay and I'd deal with it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I spoke to the group and learned that it was Dustin who was the culprit. He said he grabbed her read-end. I told him he was grounded for a month and that he needed to apologize to her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next thing I remember, we were having baseball practice in the school yard and my mom was hitting balls out to the kids. They weren't too bad considering their young age. I just remember thinking that we looked pretty disorganized and I was trying to decide how to rectify that. (Uhhh, I couldn't tell you the last time my mom his a baseball.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next thing I remember was that we were at my parents' house. Most of the kids had already been picked up, except Dustin and Kyle. (I don't know Kyle, but I used to babysit for Dustin.) At one point, I thought they were going to spend the night there because there was an extra mattress on the floor in the spare bedroom. But Mom mentioned that maybe we should call their parents. I had a difficult time finding their numbers in the phone book, but one at a time, the fathers showed up without me making even one phone call.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;First Dustin's dad came. He was also a good friend of my dad's. Mom told me that I really needed to tell him about the incident with the crying girl. She assured me that he was a great father and always dealt with Dustin really well about such things.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Next, little Kyle's dad showed up. At one point, Kyle comes running out of the house to tell me that his dad was tearing up the kitchen and that he was sent out by MY dad to come and get me. Once I ran inside, the kitchen actually looked fine, but my dad seemed to be tending to Kyle's dad. My dad yelled for us to get out of the room.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, we went back to my parents' bedroom where we found my mom. I asked her what was going on. She said that Kyle's dad had really bad coughing spells just like my dad. So, my dad was seeing what he could do to comfort him. I got the impression that things weren't going well. I don't remember anything after that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Later the same morning, I had a dream about being in my yard with a few of my neighbors. Ironically, Linda and her husband were there. We were talking about the remodeling I'd done and what I still planned to do. I remember showing them around, even in the garage. Though it didn't seem strange at the time, there was a square patch of grass in the middle of the garage, about 4' by 4'. I couldn't explain it; I just remember noticing how green the grass was and how perfectly groomed it was.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next thing I remember was playing football in the yard. A bunch of guys were playing, but someone got hurt. My brother's team was going to lose because they didn't have a quarterback. So he asked me if I'd fill in. I told him that I hadn't played in a long time because of my shoulder. So, I could play, but I didn't think I'd do them any good. After throwing around to warm up, my confidence level increased.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Also in that dream, there were several young boys who were doing some kind of performance. I just remember they were all wearing the same outfit, had to be quieted and corralled, lined up on the stage for something, and then all came off the stage and down the hall to wait for their next task. The only reason I remember it being the same dream is because the little boys were upset that they couldn't play football with us.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3590503663239759136-7724857558312648304?l=thismorningsdream.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thismorningsdream.blogspot.com/feeds/7724857558312648304/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3590503663239759136&amp;postID=7724857558312648304' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3590503663239759136/posts/default/7724857558312648304'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3590503663239759136/posts/default/7724857558312648304'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thismorningsdream.blogspot.com/2008/02/saturday-february-9-2008.html' title='Saturday, February 9, 2008'/><author><name>Leslie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07102488509468093491</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9oM2c5exPpk/TUQt6PCYpGI/AAAAAAAAB1U/q21mQjxCrfI/s220/CAC%2Bphoto.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3590503663239759136.post-8779899849880070800</id><published>2007-07-29T20:52:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-08-28T20:55:30.653-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='homework'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='travel'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='kiss'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='lost'/><title type='text'>Sunday, July 29, 2007</title><content type='html'>In the first dream that I remember, I was traveling. At first, I was with Mom. We were walking around this building where we were going to be staying. Eventually, we walked down this long hill, with brick walls on both sides. She was able to walk down the whole way, I slid down the hill on my butt part of the way and wondered how I was going to get to the bottom, when Mom said that we should probably just go back up. The whole time, we were talking about how beautiful it was and how the weather was perfect.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The place where we were staying reminded me of an old Mexican adobe home, a very large one. In fact, we didn’t have individual hotel rooms. The home was very intricate with rooms and hallways in all different directions, almost as if it were underground. Every time I turned around, there was another ‘way’ to go. We all shared rooms with the family members, mostly children, of the family who lived there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was having a difficult time finding my room, which started with a 4 and was four digits long. I climbed stone steps until I reached what I thought was the fourth floor. None of the rooms had my number on it. As I went down one particular hallway, it took me out on a landing. I remember thinking that it was strange that both the first AND the fourth floors could take me outside to level ground. I roamed around outside for a bit, thinking there might be another building or something with my room number on it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eventually, I decided to go back to the main building. I had to cross a creek to get there. I was trying to avoid the water and this log that looked too slippery to walk across. All the time I was still carrying my suitcase. I got mud on my shoes, but otherwise made it just fine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After I got back to the building and found people I recognized, I asked about my room. They told me it was through the restaurant on the fourth floor. I was able to find it then. My roommate was to be one of the waitresses there, probably 16-17 years old. She was very pretty and a good waitress; I could tell just by watching her for a few minutes. It was then that I got an email from Richard (my boss) asking for directions to where we were staying.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That’s the end of what I remember of the dream.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In my second dream, I was studying something with my friend Terri. (Two dreams in one weekend about Terri. Hmmm.) We needed to cover five chapters. I remember that Jeff was there, only much younger.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We were in my parents’ home. Terri was lying on the couch against the long wall. I was sitting on the floor leaning against the couch where her feet were. And Jeff kept going back to the bedroom and talking to someone, then coming out to us to talk. I wanted to get up to see who he was talking to back there, but I wanted to finish studying first. I thought I had a long way to go, but I was nearly on chapter six. Only four pages left.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once I finished the four pages, rather quickly, mostly just perusing them, I got up to see who Jeff was talking to in the bedroom. Ben Affleck was in my parents’ bed. He was under the covers and trying to sleep. I don’t know if he was entertained by Jeff or annoyed by him. But it was obvious that he was trying to sleep and couldn’t possibly get to do that with Jeff bothering him. So, I told him that I’d take care of Jeff.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next thing I remember, Terri and Jeff are discussing math. Apparently, the last chapter that we were studying was about math and Jeff understood it. Ben thought it was strange that someone so young could actually understand that, but I explained that Jeff was really smart and they could be busy for awhile. Oh, by the way, Jeff was wearing a white warm-up uniform, kind of big, but perfectly white.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I then jumped on the bed and kissed Ben, almost like an apology. Then he kissed me back. We started making out, (talk about a dream!) but I remembered that Terri and Jeff were on their last chapter and Jeff would probably be coming back in soon to talk to Ben. So, I told Ben that we’d have to wait until Terri and Jeff left. I’m not sure why I thought that Jeff would be leaving with Terri, but I did.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While waiting, I walked into the kitchen and grabbed a few pieces of fresh pineapple from a bowl on the kitchen counter. That was right after I left Ben in the bedroom saying, ‘Don’t forget where we were.’ To which he replied, ‘Oh, don’t worry.’ He got up; I got up. I don’t know where he went or what he did, but I went into the kitchen for pineapple. That’s all I remember about that dream.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3590503663239759136-8779899849880070800?l=thismorningsdream.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thismorningsdream.blogspot.com/feeds/8779899849880070800/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3590503663239759136&amp;postID=8779899849880070800' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3590503663239759136/posts/default/8779899849880070800'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3590503663239759136/posts/default/8779899849880070800'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thismorningsdream.blogspot.com/2007/07/sunday-july-29-2007.html' title='Sunday, July 29, 2007'/><author><name>Leslie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07102488509468093491</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9oM2c5exPpk/TUQt6PCYpGI/AAAAAAAAB1U/q21mQjxCrfI/s220/CAC%2Bphoto.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3590503663239759136.post-4214896393226647686</id><published>2007-07-27T20:55:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2008-08-28T21:03:33.871-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='crowd'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='children'/><title type='text'>Friday, July 27, 2007</title><content type='html'>(I slept great for the first night in about a week.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was at a large outdoor picnic at some park. I don’t think I knew most of the people there. But I seemed to be with my friend Terri. At one point, the food was ready. There was one large buffet at the front of the ‘room’ and large serving bowls on each of the tables. Terri and I were sitting at a table, so we started serving up food from those bowls. We had both filled our plates and sat them down at our places. Then we decided to go get something to drink. This turned out to take much longer than we expected due to the crowd. By the time we returned to our places, our food was gone. I was really upset by this. But Terri said that we could just go to the main buffet line and get food. What mayhem! There were kids everywhere and people going backwards through the line. It was crazy. For some reason, there was a display wall, much like you’d see in a department store, with pots and pans hanging from it. And several of the kids, one boy in particular, would come and play the pots and pans like they were instruments. It was loud and annoying! Eventually, I remember carrying my plate back to my seat, but it was in this very large, dipping spoon-shaped basket and it was heavy. During my walk back to my seat, I saw my cousin Terri (different Terri). She was playing the sax in a rock band. And she was really getting into it, dancing with the band and singing along. She’s normally pretty shy. By the time I sat down to eat, I was no longer with my friend Terri, but I was sitting next to my mom. While we were eating, my sister Erin came up and sat with us. She didn’t sit on the bench, but on the table. She was complaining about someone being rude. I said that it might be considered rude to sit your butt on a table that people were eating. But when I looked at her to get her reaction, she’d already moved down to the bench and looked at me like I didn’t know what I was talking about. But her wet butt mark on the table confirmed that she had in fact been sitting on the table. Then she noticed a small child getting a piggy back ride. She said something like, ‘You have two shoe laces on your back!’ And the little girl did have two shoe laces tied together for decoration on her back. Also while eating with Mom, I remember seeing kids up on the second floor. It was like a loft over-looking the area where the rest of us were eating. I just remember thinking that it would be way too easy for those kids to fall off that level. The next thing I know, I’m sitting in a completely different environment, next to a door. There is a knock at the door, I open it, and there is a young boy there, carrying a table that had his little sister on it. He was much too small to be carrying her. But he felt she was too small to walk on her own and thought this was the one way to get her to wherever they were going. That was the end of the dream... us discussing how she might just be able to walk or trying to figure out how he might more easily get her to wherever they were going. I remember she was just a cute little thing with pudgy legs and a red shirt with ruffles. She had wavy curly hair and played with her hands the whole time we were talking. She was probably 2 and her brother was about 4. But he was all business in taking care of his little sister.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3590503663239759136-4214896393226647686?l=thismorningsdream.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thismorningsdream.blogspot.com/feeds/4214896393226647686/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3590503663239759136&amp;postID=4214896393226647686' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3590503663239759136/posts/default/4214896393226647686'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3590503663239759136/posts/default/4214896393226647686'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thismorningsdream.blogspot.com/2007/07/friday-july-27-2007.html' title='Friday, July 27, 2007'/><author><name>Leslie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07102488509468093491</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9oM2c5exPpk/TUQt6PCYpGI/AAAAAAAAB1U/q21mQjxCrfI/s220/CAC%2Bphoto.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3590503663239759136.post-4772385453976982338</id><published>2007-06-10T21:03:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-08-28T21:06:47.826-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='parents'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='cats'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='trees'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='wall'/><title type='text'>Sunday, June 10, 2007</title><content type='html'>In my first dream that I remember, I was coming home from somewhere. Someone else was driving and just dropped me off. I noticed as we were getting closer to my house that there was work being done there. I didn’t ask anyone to do any work there, so I wasn’t sure what was going on and was a little nervous. Eventually, I could see that people were trimming trees. (I desperately need to have a couple/few trees taken down.) I was still concerned as to why these men were there since I hadn’t hired them to do the work.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I entered my home through the front door, which I never do, just to avoid them. I was watching television and playing with my cats, Lily and Peek-a-Boo (who are now dead). At one point, there was a small monkey there, sitting on Lily’s back. It scared me to see the monkey, so I screamed out, which scared the cats. I opened the front door to try to get the monkey to leave. It did, but Lily followed it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At some point, but I’m not sure when, I heard the men from the tree-trimming IN my house. As I tip-toed into the kitchen to look for them, I was startled to see one of them walking down the hall. As I jumped, he whispered that it was okay, that he’d just be a minute. I was again nervous, but no longer frightened.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eventually, I was out back with the man in charge of the tree-trimming. He introduced himself as being related to some Ackerman, who was on the town board. He said that Mr. Ackerman needed all trees in town trimmed by a certain time and had these guys start the work at my house. (My neighbor’s daughter happens to be married to an Ackerman who is on the local School Board.) As I was talking with this man, I noticed that the men working on my trees had built a very large cement block structure to surround my back yard. The walls started at the edge of my house, went to the end of my yard, were as high as the trees, and had a ceiling. It was obvious that they used those large cement blocks, but they were painted black. I got the impression that the walls allowed them to keep all falling limbs within my yard, preventing injury to others.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At one point, one of the men was at the top of one of the walls, chipping away at the ceiling to get it to come down a few blocks at a time… not chunks of it, but orderly, literally cutting away a few blocks at a time. But instead, a huge part of the ceiling was coming down and I imagined it falling on one of the men on the ground. I covered my head and cried out. Then assuming that the man on the ground had been crushed and killed, I sobbed for him. But the man in charge assured me that everyone was fine. When I looked up, the man that should have been crushed was standing there smiling, saying he was fine. I then started helping the men ‘cut’ the block wall down.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Later in the day, I was at my parents’ home. I was trying to describe the big black, block wall to them. We were in the kitchen. Mom and others I can’t remember seemed completely uninterested. But my dad kept asking me questions trying to picture this big structure. It was like he didn’t believe me and doubted the necessity of this wall. When I thought he finally understood what I was trying to convey, he no longer seemed interested either. In fact, I remember walking out to his truck with him as I was still talking. He started up the truck and drove away as if I wasn’t talking to him at all. When I went back into the kitchen to finish my story to the others, they ignored me too. I was frustrated and hurt, but I sat down and ate this soup that had live gold fish in it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3590503663239759136-4772385453976982338?l=thismorningsdream.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thismorningsdream.blogspot.com/feeds/4772385453976982338/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3590503663239759136&amp;postID=4772385453976982338' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3590503663239759136/posts/default/4772385453976982338'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3590503663239759136/posts/default/4772385453976982338'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thismorningsdream.blogspot.com/2007/06/sunday-june-10-2007.html' title='Sunday, June 10, 2007'/><author><name>Leslie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07102488509468093491</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9oM2c5exPpk/TUQt6PCYpGI/AAAAAAAAB1U/q21mQjxCrfI/s220/CAC%2Bphoto.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3590503663239759136.post-4745891030438819449</id><published>2007-06-06T21:07:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-08-28T21:08:10.928-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='soccer'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='running late'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='business'/><title type='text'>Wednesday, June 6, 2007</title><content type='html'>I was attending a soccer match or something. I just remember needing to get from one sideline to the other at an outdoor field. I was running on what could be described as a smaller version of one of those walkways that goes over major highways. It was all metal and wide enough for one to two people. It was only about six to eight feet off the ground, with a handrail on both sides. I believe I was alone on the walkway as I ran along it. There were turns at the corners of the field. I remember being nervous about taking the turns at my running speed and slowed down to be more sure of my footing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next thing I remember, I was running on the sidewalks and pavements to my home. I believe I was on my street. I was carrying a four-pack of some beverage in glass bottles. I ended up moving along side a young lady that I didn’t recognize. But we started up a friendly conversation. She said that she was a MK consultant, making money to pay for her son’s hospital bills. Her goal was to make at least $200/week. Her son’s bills were in excess of $14,000. She was completely overwhelmed by how long it would take her to pay those bills.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eventually, I was in her home, discussing her business with her. One of her kids noticed that one of my bottles was leaking and making a mess all over the floor. I was in the process of cleaning it up when her husband got home. I got the impression that he didn’t like me being there. So, I quickly cleaned up the mess, grabbed my remaining beverages, told the lady to give me a call and I’d help her with ideas for her business, and then I continued running home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lots of running in this dream. And people I don’t think I know.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3590503663239759136-4745891030438819449?l=thismorningsdream.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thismorningsdream.blogspot.com/feeds/4745891030438819449/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3590503663239759136&amp;postID=4745891030438819449' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3590503663239759136/posts/default/4745891030438819449'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3590503663239759136/posts/default/4745891030438819449'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thismorningsdream.blogspot.com/2007/06/wednesday-june-6-2007.html' title='Wednesday, June 6, 2007'/><author><name>Leslie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07102488509468093491</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9oM2c5exPpk/TUQt6PCYpGI/AAAAAAAAB1U/q21mQjxCrfI/s220/CAC%2Bphoto.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3590503663239759136.post-4448665023106696204</id><published>2007-06-01T21:08:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-08-28T21:10:39.093-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='crowd'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='running late'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='religion'/><title type='text'>Friday, June 1, 2007</title><content type='html'>I was standing at the corner of 25th and 17th (I’m guessing one of those was a street and one was an avenue!) with several other people, mostly family. Community East Hospital was just across the street. Some of us were going in the hospital and some of us were going somewhere else. I was somewhat in charge of those of us going somewhere else. We were making arrangements to meet back at this intersection later in the day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As we were standing there, I noticed a handful of preteen girls walking down the street wearing hats that were crocheted but looked like afros or dreadlocks. I remember thinking, what a cute idea, why hadn't anyone thought about it before. They were done with variegated yarn and were very colorful.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next thing I know, I’m teaching my seventh graders their last religion class of the year at my parents’ house. Only a few of them showed up. At one point, one of the boys was really getting on my nerves. So, I went to the whiteboard and made his grade a D. He said something about me taking my frustration on the kids who didn’t show up out on him. I realized he was right, but I didn’t change his grade. (Like I even give out grades!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next thing I remember, we were running late and I needed to get the kids back to where they were being picked up. I don’t know why they weren’t being picked up at my parents’. And I don’t know how we got there without a vehicle. But we were running from there to my house to get to a vehicle.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While running that way, Erin (my sister) was there and was gloating about getting valedictorian because so many others didn’t show up. I don’t know when Erin got there; it’s not like she was ever part of the class before. But I remember thinking, “I wonder why Erin, a 32 year old woman, is competing with 7th graders for valedictorian and why is she bragging about this feat?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When we got to my house, we got in the van. Edna’s van. To the best of my knowledge, Edna doesn’t have a van in real life, but that’s not important. We all jump in; I’m in the passenger seat. The van is parked along the side of the road, pointing north. This means that it’s not pointed in the direction of the street where we need to go. And instead of just doing a three-point turn right there, the driver went up the dead-end street to do a u-turn. Before we got to the end cul-de-sac, there was a yellow and red DHL truck pointed right at us. It seemed to be going very fast, but then slammed on the brakes or something because it ended up bouncing on it’s rear wheels with its front end off the ground and spinning around like it was break-dancing. I just remember thinking, “We don’t have time for this. Hurry the heck up!”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Finally we were on our way and got the kids dropped off just a minute or two late. On the way home, my cell phone rang. It was the mother of one of the kids who didn't show up, whose son I taught during my first year of teaching five years ago. She was calling to let me know that she’d have her son there tomorrow night. I very rudely told her that I wouldn’t be there, that the last class was tonight and that it was over, and that I was not going to teach the damn thing again. She was very upset, but I hung up on her.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3590503663239759136-4448665023106696204?l=thismorningsdream.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thismorningsdream.blogspot.com/feeds/4448665023106696204/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3590503663239759136&amp;postID=4448665023106696204' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3590503663239759136/posts/default/4448665023106696204'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3590503663239759136/posts/default/4448665023106696204'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thismorningsdream.blogspot.com/2007/06/friday-june-1-2007.html' title='Friday, June 1, 2007'/><author><name>Leslie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07102488509468093491</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9oM2c5exPpk/TUQt6PCYpGI/AAAAAAAAB1U/q21mQjxCrfI/s220/CAC%2Bphoto.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3590503663239759136.post-7880583824904722476</id><published>2007-03-11T21:10:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-08-28T21:12:17.850-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='train'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='writing'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='running'/><title type='text'>Sunday, March 11, 2007</title><content type='html'>I had a dream that I was sitting at a table with Vic (a co-worker) and a couple of other people. I can’t remember who the others were. At one point, I asked Vic how much of his book he had written. He said, ‘about this much’ and held his thumb and fore finger about two inches apart. That would have a made a good-sized book. I expressed how impressed I was and asked if he was going to let me read it. He looked over at the boss, who wasn’t really listening to our conversation, and said that because it had to do with work, I couldn’t read it until it was published. I said I understood and dropped it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In another part of the dream, or perhaps a completely different dream, I remember running along side a train. I wasn’t the only one. And we weren’t doing it for fun. We had to run along the train, going in the opposite direction, in order for the fuel valves to open. They had sensors that would open as we ran past them. If we weren’t fast enough, the fuel valves wouldn’t open and the train wouldn’t get enough fuel in order to finish its trip.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3590503663239759136-7880583824904722476?l=thismorningsdream.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thismorningsdream.blogspot.com/feeds/7880583824904722476/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3590503663239759136&amp;postID=7880583824904722476' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3590503663239759136/posts/default/7880583824904722476'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3590503663239759136/posts/default/7880583824904722476'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thismorningsdream.blogspot.com/2007/03/sunday-march-11-2007.html' title='Sunday, March 11, 2007'/><author><name>Leslie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07102488509468093491</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9oM2c5exPpk/TUQt6PCYpGI/AAAAAAAAB1U/q21mQjxCrfI/s220/CAC%2Bphoto.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3590503663239759136.post-1254771814268455413</id><published>2007-03-10T21:12:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2008-08-28T21:13:53.164-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='restaurant'/><title type='text'>Saturday, March 10, 2007</title><content type='html'>My mom was running a restaurant in my house. It was small and intimate, yet there were menus as if it was established and much larger. For some reason, the wait staff was really light that night, so I was helping out. I wasn’t very good at it. At one point, a lady asked if our pianist could play a song she brought with her. I explained that I couldn’t guarantee that he’d know the song, but I’d ask him. Then the lady sitting next to her, with clear surgical gloves on her hands, removed a cassette tape from a large plastic baggie, explaining that she didn’t allow her friend to touch just anything with all the germs that are around in the world… not just the restaurant.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Another couple had waited for awhile and expected their meals free, expensive meals. She specifically said, “Since we were avoided not once, but four times, I expect our meals to be free. The total comes to $79 and this is what we want.” I was shocked and knew that Mom would be upset.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I vaguely remember the beginning of the dream having to find a place for Jeff to stay. I don’t really remember that it was Jeff, but I do remember having to find a caregiver.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I also remember that Mom had to close the restaurant earlier in the evening due to the staff not being there. And by the end of the evening, she was ready to close again. I said, “Let’s do it.” We walked into the living room, which is where the tables were set up for the customers. The room was empty, so we turned off the outside lights and put up the closed sign. We were going to start cleaning up and doing dishes, but there was a knock on the window and we decided to lie low until we were sure no one would come back. Unfortunately, we had a couple of items that we thought folks might come back that evening to get, like the tape that the lady wanted the pianist to play.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I also remember that at one point, Mom had set up a bunch of Grandma’s old wooden furniture out in the carport for sale. It looked gorgeous. There was an assessor there, pricing the furniture and I mentioned that there was a piece loose on one of the desks. He made note of it and thanked me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3590503663239759136-1254771814268455413?l=thismorningsdream.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thismorningsdream.blogspot.com/feeds/1254771814268455413/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3590503663239759136&amp;postID=1254771814268455413' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3590503663239759136/posts/default/1254771814268455413'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3590503663239759136/posts/default/1254771814268455413'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thismorningsdream.blogspot.com/2007/03/saturday-march-10-2007.html' title='Saturday, March 10, 2007'/><author><name>Leslie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07102488509468093491</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9oM2c5exPpk/TUQt6PCYpGI/AAAAAAAAB1U/q21mQjxCrfI/s220/CAC%2Bphoto.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
