Only infrequently do I remember any dream at all. I nearly always have to be awoken in the course of the dream to have any recollection of what I might have been doing (except sex dreams, which I do remember, but right now I don't remember actually doing the deed, let along dreaming about it - my husband and I often remember those pre-baby days so fondly, as we promise to get snuggly again one day, and then promptly pass out holding hands).
Last night I managed to wake up and then panic about the dream I had shaken out of. In my dream I had become an aggressive blog reviewer and swag hag, the kind who gets and gives away piles of tasty woman oriented goods. Now, since none of you know me in real life, you might not know just how far from likely this scenario might be. I am headed to a party where items of fashion and fluffy bath shit will be traded and bandied about, to be held at an exclusive restaurant which will be rented out for the event (this must be directly related to my sister's having taken me to drug rep dinners handed out to the medical profession - its less prostitution-y but I have pretended to be a medical assistant in order to eat the prosciutto with melon appetizers). At my dream giveaway party, there is an item that all the ladies vie for, in some vague undefined party give-away exchange rite involving the swapping of stories and trying to get one's hands on the hot ticket, much like that white elephant party game where everyone tries to get the Chia-pet because the candles are dull. The hot ticket - a brown and turquoise dress and bolero jacket in a wild paisley print. Somehow everyone is leaving and I realize the clothing was left in the party place and I drive back drunk to get it even though it is not my size. I lie to the police about why I went back (claiming medical problems for the restaurant manager, who needed me) and then sneak into my house so my husband won't see the dress.
I woke up feeling thirsty and hungover and needed a Tylenol and a third of an Ambien to get back to sleep.
Does this story have any meaning, you ask? I think I am spooked. I am trying to upgrade my website, but I am slowed down some by my lack of tech skills. And, I am going to put the BlogHer ads and links to the BlogHer network on my site, just as soon as I can manage to work it out. But I THINK, this expresses my concerns about being ethical on my blog. Before you dump me as a sell out, know that my secret wish is to write for children. If I can one day do so, I'll be more proud of that than of anything I've done save create the lovely Gingerlings because I wouldn't be the girl I am now if I hadn't read the books I read in my youth. I see this blog as a stepping stone to my future writing, if for no other reason than to prime the pump and get the words out, but also to be able to perhaps launch into other writing forums because people can see what I do. And then, there is that whole free therapy thing, where you guys let me cry and hold my hair while I vomit and tell me I am good enough, strong enough, and doggone it people like me.
What I love about BlogHer is the links to other blogs in the ad connected "More from BlogHer" section. Like most of you, I have lost hours bouncing from link to link on the strength of blog post titles alone, and really enjoyed myself. So, that is why I'm pursuing it - to link my links with yours and get others linking here. I hope we like it. And I promise to try to keep my wits about me, not wear brown and turquoise paisley, not drive drunk and lie, and to never talk up Ambien unless I really took the Ambien. I did, by the way, and I've not been paid for that.
Our First Family Photo
1 hour ago