The wind is blowing through my hair as I carelessly cruise the highway. I pull off the road to watch the fiery sun as it sets against the restless waves of the sea. I lean against the hood of my vintage car. A tall stranger feigns disinterest.
I turn my back to him. Shoes in hand, I walk on the sand; he pursues me. The sand holds me back as I try to walk faster. Helplessly, I fall. Shirt in hand, he catches up to me, his smooth chest glistening in the dusk. As the sun drops into the sea, he lifts me in his muscular arms and my life changes forever.
Then I wake up.
Then I clean up dog pee.
Then I go to work.
I open the windows of the car, afraid that if I drive with the airconditioning I'll run out of gas on the way. The wind wreaks havoc with my hair; I make a mental note to buy more hair gel.
I pull off the highway to adjust my seat; I make a mental note to not drive with these shoes again.
And so it goes...
Those teensy gaps between reality and dreams don't upset me anymore. At most, they remind me that I haven't given up hope. At least, they keep me wildly entertained.
I'm guessing that at this point, I'm never going to leave my day job, I'm never going to walk the red carpet, I'll never hang with people who think seasons are verbs and I'm never going to sit cross legged with a mini skirt.
So no apologies if I had a dream about Russel Crowe and a yacht, and I stayed in that place between sleep and awake as long as I could.
The dog will wait a little longer to go out.