Last night I dreamt that a blog friend from Australia came to visit me by surprise. I was so happy to meet him and was charmed by what a gentleman he was. Him and I were sitting at a restaurant, next to each other, and for some reason we had these strangers sitting across from us, (they do this in Europe, if you are alone you sit at a table with a stranger.) Well the guys across the table kept stealing my shoes, I am not sue why I had enough shoes for them to continually steal them, but I did. It turned out that they were shoe fetishists, which totally grossed me out, because I was an unwilling participant. More on those guys later.
At one point I was watching a videotape and my mom showed up on it. She died when I was nine, so I was so happy to have this tape, because I can’t remember what her voice sounded like. I got to listen to her talk for about 30 seconds, and then I realized I had taped Dr. Phil over the end of it. I was really angry at myself for just grabbing any tape instead of checking before taping.
Fast Forward and I realized I was having a conversation with my mom. It was a friendly, easy going conversation, like one you would have while visiting with a favorite aunt. Her hair was cut shorter than it was when she died, their must be salons in heaven. At the end of the conversation we got up and hugged her and told her how exciting this was that I got to talk to her. She asked why and I said “well you do know you are dead, don’t you?” It was as if she didn’t know, and now that she knew she said “I can’t see you as well, your fading away” I kept talking to her, trying to keep her with me, but I still faded in and out.
Somehow the shoe fetishists came back in the picture and Rich and I were on a mission to subdue them. We backed them into a bathroom and I, again, for some reason, had a lot of shoes. I grabbed some really sexy black stilettos to try to allure them and then I stabbed one of them with the heel in the stomach. Rich turned to me and said “What do you think?” I said “about what?” and he moved his hand and he had been stabbed in the stomach with a stiletto too!
I remember screaming “NOOOOOOOOOO” and then he was laying in a subway station, and I was standing over him, cleaning the wound and wrapping it in gauze. I was so sure that he was going to die, and I was so upset that when I finally learned what a nice person he was, that he would die right then. But then he was like, “Geez, it’s not that big of a deal, quit being so dramatic” and when I looked at it again it was just a little scratch.