I dream of Paris

The city - not the bimbo. In my dream I'm in France somewhere, trying desperately to get home to America. The map isn't much help, but I finally locate a road sign and I make my way to Paris and locate an international airport. Still not speaking any french at all, I find an American speaking ticket agent who finds a flight for me leaving in 20 minutes - a direct flight to the Akron/Canton airport - perfect! (Unlikely, yes, but still perfect).

There's a problem, of course. He won't get me on the flight until I ask my friend from college if she would like to make a "French Connection" with him. I turn and see C. in a bookstore across the concourse. What she's doing in Paris is a mystery and how this guy knew that I used to know her is also puzzleing, but I really want to get home. So, I try to casually talk to her - without it looking like I'm actually talking to her - in case he figures out who she is and stalks her even if she says no. I somehow manage to ask her and she casually glances over at him. She smiles at me and says she'll think about it. And I'm like "Well, think quickly, the plane leaves in 15 minutes".

I woke up before she made a decision - so at least a little part of me is stuck in an airport in Paris - forever waiting for the answer to a "booty call".

I wonder if there's anything to that? If the land of dreams exists somewhere and unless you make a graceful exit, you can get stuck. With the throughness and intensity of my dreams, there can't be much left of me here anymore. They are always so real and vivid - kinda makes you wonder. I suppose there are worse places to be stuck in a dream than Paris (see any of my zombie entries) - but it does explain why I had so much trouble getting up this morning - I wanted to go back and get the rest of me.

Well, back to work...