Last night I dreamed I was walking around the halls of a college campus. Young people were milling about going to class. I ran into my old professor Dr Robert Train Adams. We were talking and I suddenly realized he had become a Saint. He had a fiery halo and it was as if I could see his true forms; a white paladin's shield adorned with a blue cross, a golden, bejeweled cup filled with Christ's blood, the college professor with a halo... I reached out to touch his heart and he threatened to punch me. Then he said he was just kidding. Then I woke up. Why can't I dream like normal people?
6 comments:
Actually, your dream sounded pretty normal to me--particularly the halo, cross and cup...not to mention punching you. But wait! Wasn't the punching you my dream? Oh no, that was a long time ago, on the way to class...lol.
I do agree, however, that college professors with halos is a questionable image. I'll forward the link to a couple of close family friends and see what they think...
best wishes (I'll drop a note privately)
the professor with a halo (puff, puff--oops--a bit of tarnish right there just doesn't want to go away...)
Hey Andy. I haven't been able to comment lately - time and internet restraints. But I'm still reading. Hoping you finally get the dreams you do want.
Yeah...bad mood's are going around.
Nice Bob! Agreed I was a difficult student at times LOL I did finally learn to spell rhythm: R-I-D-D-I-M.
Zoomy! You are much missed. Why no more linky to your profile?
MX - yea, little bit rough lately.
Hope things improve.
All right, fine. Since you brought up Wendy's boots on my blog, I have a confession to make. I would have told you this before, but I didn't think it would make sense, but now it will...as much sense as dreams can make...
The first night Wendy posted those boots (she changes her picture periodically) I dreamt that I was running from someone, slid down a vent, out a cardboard hole, and was hovering in a corner when Darth-Vader-esque boots approached me. As luck would have it, there was a pair of stiletto-heeled boots on the street, I grabbed them shoved the heel thru his vocal cords, making a small hole that I could work until it was large enough for me to squish my hand into and rip out his throat. I woke up screaming.
There's my "normal person" dream, Damn those wendyboots.
Andy, check out Wendy's blog today: www.findingblanche.blogspot.com
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