Dream

I had the best dream last night!  I was walking down a marble staircase into a ballroom filled with hundreds of tables.  Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, and a full orchestra was playing in the balcony.  Men were dressed in tuxedos; women in beautiful long gowns.  I was walking towards the center of the room when it suddenly occurred to me I wasn't supposed to be there.  This must be some sort of mistake.  Why would I be invited to such a lavish affair?  I felt like an idiot and started to leave; hoping to escape unnoticed before I was forcibly removed like the party-crashing Salahi I obviously was.  At that precise moment, Prince Charles put his hands firmly on my shoulders, turned me around and started guiding me back to the tables.  He was trying to find the place card with my name on it, and we kept walking and walking and walking.  We passed tables filled with entertainers, actors and actresses (both living and dead).  I was wracking my brain trying to figure out what I was doing there.  Had I written a screenplay or something?  No.  I was sure I would have remembered if I'd done anything noteworthy.

I was about to explain to Prince Charles that I had happened upon this fete quite by accident, when much to my amazement, he found my name.  Sitting at my table was Cher, Madonna and Lady Gaga.  Good god.  Why on earth was I here?  Would I be able to bluff my way through the evening?  I started to sit down when I noticed the occupants of the next table: Ricky Gervais, Conan O'Brien, Larry David, Martin Short, David Letterman, and Steve Martin.  There was one empty spot at their table with a place card belonging to someone whose name I didn't recognize.  I quickly swapped that card with my own, and took a seat.  (Not that sitting with Cher, Madonna and Lady Gaga wouldn't have been entertaining, but given my druthers...)  As I sat down I was waiting for these six men to tell me I didn't belong, but for some inexplicable reason they didn't seem to find it the least bit peculiar that I was there.

The night began when the master of ceremonies took the stage.  It was John Boehner - Weeper of the House.  He started to speak and immediately began crying.  It got so bad he had to be removed from the podium, and in his place stepped Johnny Carson.  Johnny Carson!!!   Between Johnny and the men at my table, I was laughing all night long.  I can't ever remember feeling so...  light. (What's really weird is that even though it has been hours since my dream, I can still recall that feeling.  It's hard to put into words.  It was as though everything else just melted away and I had a temporary pass to pure happiness.)  As we were talking and laughing in this grand ballroom, I kept thinking the only thing missing was my dad - my dad from 20 years ago.  (I wish I could have summoned him from my subconscious and put him at the table with us.  He would have been in his glory.)

My newfound friends and I made plans to meet the next day; they were going to help me find a place to live.  (I'm assuming it was Los Angeles.)  I couldn't wait to move someplace warm and make a fresh start; I had something wonderful to look forward to!  We sat there talking until it was time to go; though mostly I was just listening to the conversation and laughing.

I think I woke myself up by laughing out loud.  Seriously!  I don't know if such a thing is actually possible, but I do know I've woken up crying before, so it stands to reason one could wake up laughing.  As I slowly regained my senses, I realized it had all been a dream.  My happiness evaporated as I was thrust unceremoniously back into reality; what a terrible disappointment.  It was only 3:30am so I tried desperately to fall back to sleep in the hope I could continue the dream and recapture the joy I felt - as if that could ever happen.  (I'm here to report it cannot.)

I'm not sure what this dream meant - if in fact dreams are supposed to mean anything at all.  I only know that for those few hours I had the best time!  (I wonder what that translates to in real time - a few minutes?)  I suspect it's probably not a good sign that a fantasy world provides one's happiest moments, but it's better than not having those moments at all, isn't it?  (Well, isn't it?)

P.S.  Where was Camilla?

P.P.S.  I can't explain why I was privy to such a remarkable, joyful, vivid dream. I've been taking a lot of guaifenesin and sudafed lately; maybe that had something to do with it.

P.P.P.S.   I never saw myself.  I wonder what my dress looked like...