Dreamin...

Well, I'm sick again.

No, I am not a hypochondriac. I have way too much stuff wrong with me to fool with that, too.

Daughter has it, too. In fact she is worse than I. We've both been to the doctor and hopefully are on the mend.

I'm just telling you that to explain why I ain't blogged in several days.

But when Dog woke us up at 5:30 this morning, I was dreaming, and as you know,  my dreams are fascinating.  I just had to blog about it before I get ready to go to the doctor.  (I repeat, I am not a hypochondriac).

So, I am dreaming that I am on the President's White House staff. We are meeting in the room that was in the house I lived in until I was seven. It was a spare bedroom and my parents had turned it into a playroom.

President wants a press conference on the spur of the moment. He tells me to be sure that Henny Penny is there. Now, this confuses me. Who the heck is he talking about? Another person, also on staff, tells me that's the president's nickname for some guy named Ken Penney.

The president is dressed in those baggy gym shorts twelve year old boys wear. He needs to get ready for the press conference, so he tells me he needs clean underwear, and doesn't think he has any. But, if he does, it's in a plastic container  on the high shelf. The only problem is, his wife has placed a loaded gun in there, ready to go off at any moment.

For some reason, this gun can apparently go off if even touched. I get the step ladder and set it up to climb. I see the box. It is on a shelf in the half-bath/pantry/laundry room in the house we moved into after my grandparents retired.

Anyway, I climb up, carefully peering into the box. I see one clean white t-shirt. I don't see a gun, but I do see a duck. It is alive and turns it's black, beady eye toward me, but continues to sit as I attempt to snatch the t-shirt away.

Duck doesn't even move. Not much of a guard, if you ask me. I hope it wasn't lame.

Now, this is not a political blog. Maybe this isn't a political dream,  unless you want to go all psychoanalytical on me, which many of my dear friends have already done; possibly taking notes as they read.

I will just be glad when I' m well again.

Dreams like this are enough to make me wonder about my future in fictional writing. Will I have to stop and go into political talk show host mode?

Lord, I hope not.