OMGosh What A Dream I had last night--as always it was vivid, colorful, detailed, and involved most of the senses. It's taken me the better part of the day (between errands) to type it--and I don't even remember most of it--this was just the tiniest part of the end:
I was on a some sort of a gambling tour I think because I was counting up all kinds of cash. For some reason I got mad at Dr. M (the nicest guy ever) because he was standing behind me supposedly helping me count my money and he stopped before we were through. I guess I couldn't count that high.
The next stop for the tour bus was a hair salon. I looked in the mirror and my hair was fuller and grayer, with longer roots showing. And my dyed color was a darker brunette than my current faded out color. On a whim I decided I was going to cut it short and wear it spiky like Stacie--a soprano I know from Sanctuary Choir at FBCB--but luckily there wasn't enough time. I say luckily, because it was going to also be dyed hot pink!
The next stop was in Panama City and I went off on my own--planning to meet back up with the tour at a store that was also a diner, but when I arrived I found a biker gang was there and our tour bus had left early. Without me.
I reviewed my situation: I was stranded at a diner with a bunch of bikers, My iPhone and all my money had been left at a hotel whose name I could not recall. Compounding the problem, I couldn't remember the name of the street it was on--however I COULD remember how to get there.
One of the bikers offered to give me a ride, but I declined since he had just ordered his meal. I thought I could direct a cab to the hotel, so I did allow him to flag down a cab for me.
Unfortunately, the cab service was a futuristic automated, open air, pedi-cab sort of thing that did not take street by street directions.
I began berating myself for not picking up a business card with the hotel name and address--something I do when traveling abroad, but rarely think to do stateside.
The waiter/stock boy began serving the helpful biker his meal and overheard my self-lecture. He said he "just happened to have" a piece of paper with the name of our hotel on it written on it. It had apparently been handed in with his tips (was there a cougar in the group?!). I gushed my thanks and hugged him rather inappropriately (much longer than socially acceptable).
I requested to use the phone, but it too was futuristically odd looking and I could not get it to dial the number. I was however, able to call a long distance number. The third time the elderly woman on the other end of the call told me in no uncertain terms NOT to call her again.
Hot tears of frustration rolled down my cheeks and my nose turned purple and runny. (I'm not a cute little crocodile-tear crier).
After I brushed the tears from my eyes, I saw a blonde, whose lowered baseball cap obscured her face, stepped in front of me and slowly lifted her face--it was our tour guide--all smiles, and dimples, and was played by none other than Harriet.
Somehow the tour was over and I was sitting in the driver seat of my SUV when I heard a scrabbling noise from the passenger seat.
I looked in the direction of the noise, and a white mouse poked his head out of the side door pocket and started climbing up to the window. I didn't see if he made it out because I woke up screaming, in a cold sweat.
And now my analysis of why certain things made it into my dream:
Counting money on a tour bus--I've been preoccupied with early retirement and retirement travel. And I offered my toes to Vickie
the other night when we were figuring up Liverpool Rummy scores. (Also in attendance was Linda, who has foot surgery yesterday.) Feet-Toes--close enough.
Dr. M--never complains about anything; however, I overheard his voiced objection to the Swamp Rooms (no one at work likes them except the idiots that forced us in them). I guess since the guy that never complains even complained it validated everyone else's displeasure.
Hair--my roots are long and I've toyed with a short cut to allow everything to go gray. Stacie used to have very short hair that she wore spiked. Although she's blonde, not pink. I think the pink came from one if those internet quizzes in addicted to--the Grease Pink Lady I got was Rizzo--a brash outspoken character with whom I relate. Also, one of the hair color choices in the quiz was pink (which I did not choose).
Bikers--since the retirement of my Social Worker, my floor has been covered by the other SWers--one of whom used to ride a Ducati. SWers are by nature helpful.
Stock boy/waiter was handsome and might have been the spitting image of a cute guy I know and wouldn't be opposed to hugging for a socially inappropriate length of time. ;~)
User-UNfriendly technology--I've been frustrated at work by my new work computer not having the correct programs on it, not having a desk phone, having to strain my eyes in the dark because the lighting is insufficient in the swamp, and observing a leaking "faucet" that's either the vacuum or the oxygen (also in the swamp)--I can't tell because the leak has been ineffectively "taped shut" with green tape. And the swamp was proclaimed to be adequate. Unbelievable! (I found it late in the day Friday so I haven't reported it yet.)
Hot tears of frustration. Evident to even the blind or stupid--I'm extremely frustrated with work at the moment.
Harriet posted about an invitation and I know one of the upcoming Aware fundraisers is a Painting With A Twist in June.
The scrabbling mouse sound was actually Moggy worrying a bag with my newest purchase (that is still in the bag because I've come home dead tired the last couple of days): it's a new portable CD player--to replace the one stolen from my former office at work.
There you have it--the inner workings of my mind. I'm always amazed at how my mind works. Especially in my dreams.