The Factory Dream

I was working in a factory. I don’t know what was produced there.

Management was coming through to evaluate people, change positions, fire and promote, as they saw fit. Part of that, they were first going through a specific section that was designated personal work space. They would judge it and give us recommendations about our chances and where improvement was needed. Sort of feedback.

The personal section were about the size of a letter slot. Each had eight brass nuts on it. Space at the corners and across the middle, the nuts were to be there and tight. They were on walls from floor to ceiling, with a continuous varnished blonde wood bench in front of it.

My personal section was faded green, scratched, and worn. It looked like it’d been there since the factory’s beginnings. On the wall opposite were personal sections that looked black and newer. They almost appeared unused.

People packed the factory. Excitement boomed about this pending activity, but I was unmotivated and distant about the whole thing. Then, we came returned to our personal sections. Most people had red tags and were disappointed that they’d not been selected.

I had a note. It read, “Your nuts are loose and your box is dirty. Fix these and you have great promise.”

The feedback amused me but my co-workers and friends were impressed. Reflecting, I didn’t know what it meant in the dream. Others took time to explain that out of all these boxes, maybe one in a thousand had a note. That gave me a chance that most didn’t have, if I took care of the things that were noted.

A manager came by. He told me the same thing and then asked me what experience I had. I told him about my previous involvement with databases, CRM, and RM systems, and my analysis work. Giving me a thumbs up, he said, “You have strong potential, good luck.” Then he left.

Now motivated, I cleaned my worn green box and started tightening my nuts. One was loose and immediately fell off. I searched the floor for it but couldn’t find my nut. That dismayed me. Not having a nut meant a demotion, I’d learned. I didn’t want that and wanted a possible promotion now.

I went searching for a friendly co-worker to get his advice. “He’s been traded,” I was told.

“Traded? To another company?”

“Yep.”

“They can do that?”

“They can and do.”

That amazed me. I wasn’t certain about being traded but I definitely wanted advancement. I needed a nut.

Looking at the black boxes behind me, I decided to steal a nut from down by the floor. I’d used it, get the feedback, and then put it back when I was done. It wasn’t stealing, but borrowing.

I started executing my plan. A young woman in black clothing saw me. “You’re stealing someone’s nut,” she said, pointing. Denying it, I hastened away with the nut in my hand. As I did, she said, “I’m reporting you.” Turning away and hurrying off, she called out to another.

I stepped off. Looking back, I saw her talking to a man and pointing at me. Swearing, embarrassed, and humiliated, I took off into the factory.

I went out onto the floor where huge equipment was located. I’d never been out to the floor before. What I saw awed me. A friend who worked in that section came by and asked me what I was doing. I explained my predicament. He said, “You’d better go back and put that nut back. You don’t want to be caught with another person’s nut.”

I knew he was right. I headed back with intentions of covertly replacing it. Of course, I wanted to avoid that woman and the man she’d been talking to. Not seeing her, I put the nut back where I’d taken it.

Of course, I still needed a nut. Now the future seemed bleak. Looking down the line, I saw the inspectors coming.

My friend from the manufacturing floor came up. With deft moves, he put my nut on and tightened it. “Now you’re covered,” he said, and rushed off.

The dream ended.

February 9, 2020 0

Saturday’s Theme Music

I’ve always liked this song. While a powerful declaration, it features a strong beat, and the special voice and style of Aretha Franklin. Annie Lennox’s voice is good as well, and Mike Campbell (of Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers, and the guitarist on “Boys of Summer”) sits in.

Why “Sisters Are Doin’ It For Themselves” (1986), The Eurythmics with Aretha Franklin, is running the stream today is beyond me. Dream material? Suppose so; it was a busy dream night (too much to write down today).

It’s a good sentiment, though, for any sex or race, orientation or gender; do it for yourself. Don’t let yourself be labeled and stuck in a silo of expectations and stereotypes. Stand on your own two feet and do it for yourself.

February 8, 2020 1

A Sprawling Flood Dream

At the start, my wife and I are vacationing on the coast. She and I become separated (as often happens in my dreams that feature her, an intriguing trend).

While we’re apart, I get lost on some mountain. Eventually, I find a path and decide that it might take me to where I want to go. Impatient to have it resolved, I begin running along the path.

The path goes up and down mountains. Although it’s strenuous, I run it with little effort, and can see myself, in short blue gym shorts, young, muscles pumping.

I come to a place and slow. The path is cutting through this place. I can guess from what I see that it’s a vineyard. Encountering a young boy and a woman, I ask for directions. They assure me that I’m on the right path for where I want to go. I worry, though, am I trespassing. It’s fine, they assure me.

Off I go.

Now I’m back at the hotel with my wife. We’re in the dining room. The hotel is an older place, a motel affair from the vintage sixties of U.S. road travel. Not completely run down, but far south of its splendor years.

A large package has just arrived for my wife. She’s excited. Before she can open, though, I look up. Outside, through the open door, I can see roiling white waters rushing towards us.

“Flood,” I shout, pointing. Repeating all that, I grab my wife. As she sees what I’m pointing out, she takes up the warning, and then the woman behind the counter does the same.

My wife and I rush into our room. We leave the door open. I open the window, with the reasoning, if the water enters and gets high enough, it’ll go out the window, and we’ll be safe. We get on the bed to watch and wait. The cats, I remember. I hope they’ll be okay. I don’t know where they’re at.

The water comes into the room. The room quickly fills. Soon the water is going out the window, but more water is coming in. The mattress is floating. Then, I float out the window with my wife’s large package. I’m trying to save it, but I’m taken out to sea.

It’s not the sea, I realize. It’s a river, and I’m rushing toward waterfalls. Knowing that, I frantically swim against the current. I can’t do it while holding onto my wife’s package, so I let it go. Unburdened by it, I swim toward some fallen trees. Grabbing branches, I pull myself to the shore and out of the water, saving myself.

But I’m miles downstream, I realize. I need to get back to the hotel once again. Fortunately, I recognize the winery.

I go there. One, there’s no flooding there. Their weather is delightful. Two, they don’t remember me at first. It takes some prompting. I take some time to admire the vineyard and learn about the property’s history. It reminds me of Italy.

I run back to the hotel. The water has receded. Clean up is underway. I talk to my wife about the vineyard, telling her that I admire the people’s foresight in buying the property. She’s snide about it. I try explaining again.

Then I remember the cats. I’m worried about them. Could they survive this disaster?

I find one of the cats, a ginger and white, right away. He looks dead but when I say his name, he responds and comes to me. He seems fine. I put him in a laundry basket for protection and resume my search.

The search is interrupted. We’ve left the hotel and checked out, but we didn’t turn in the key. My wife has it, but gives it to me. It’s a standard key on a large, plastic diamond. I’m supposed to be going somewhere, so I promise to turn in the key.

Then I remember, the cats. I was looking for them. Of I go to find the cats. I find a cache of cats that include kittens. They all dry, but they all seem dead. I’m horrified, but remembering my earlier experience, I speak to them, reassuring them that the storm is over. They all open their eyes and start leaping out, safe.

But where are my cats? I find the third. He’s okay. Where are the other two? After searching, I remember that I found them and put them in laundry baskets.

I hurry to that location. There they are, safe in their baskets, waiting for me. I set them free.

Now I’m in my car, a small sports convertible (another trend to my dreams). I drive to the hotel to turn in the key. I’m blocking operations of some sort that I can’t understand. The road here is a muddy set of two tire tricks along a grassy path. I drive forward and stop. A young Clint Eastwood is part proprietor. He’s working on something, insists I’m in his way, and urges me to go on. I show him the key and explain why I’m here. Mollified, he accepts the key. We wave good-byes, and I drive off.

I go down the road a bit. I need to leave my car to get to where I’m going. I enter a large, well-appointed dining room. Chandeliers hang from the ceiling. Crystal, china, and silverware sparkle on white table clothes.

There are few people there. Two are Drew Barrymore and Adam Sandler. Talking with them, I explain where I’m trying to go. Adam tells me that I’m on the right path. Drew agrees, telling me to listen to Adam because he’s followed that path and knows what needs to be done.

I go deeper into the building. I’m carrying a package. I’m at the the top of a steep, narrow stairwell. I’m supposed to go down here. The package is too big for those steps. I need to leave it.

I hear a young boy. He’s with his family and he’s throwing a tantrum. He and I look across the space. I tell him, “Shh, it’s okay.” He stops crying and goes on.

I begin to descend the steps. Something makes me turn around. I see the boy. Although it’s as large as him, he’s about to steal my package.

I threaten him, warning him that if it’s gone when I come back, I’m coming after him. He starts crying. I hug him and tell him that it’s okay. He stops crying.

The dream ends.

February 7, 2020 3

The City on A Ship Dream

I felt wonderfully happy. I parked my black car, a little sports vehicle in an unpaved space and went in to talk to my wife. I had to go up steps. Speaking with her about tickets and time, I had the impression that we were getting ready to leave. Then, stepping out of our place onto an breezeway, I looked across the land.

Our place reminded me of the building where we lived on Okinawa, Japan, for a few years. Built in a new style in the sixties, it overlooked an old gray stone building, matching wall, and an unpaved parking lot. The similarity ended there; Okinawa’s paved streets were asphalt. The narrow, curving streets I saw in my dream were light gray cobblestones. As my eyes swept the vista, they were drawn toward the sea in the west. It wasn’t too far off. Changing my vantage and looking north, I saw sea there, too. For a moment, I thought we were on an island, but then I knew we were in a city on a ship.

Turning in another direction, I could see much more of it. The city on the ship reminded me of an old English village. The talk about tickets and time was about getting ready to dock and arrive, not to leave. That realization pleased and excited me.

Dream shift. My wife and I had come down to some shops. Now she went off to do something. Left alone in a large, crowded business, I found a place and sat down to eat.

While eating fries, I played with a game, something made to amuse young children. It was just on a table. A woman came up and teased me about playing with her game. She then ate chips out of my hair. I was surprised because I didn’t know I had fries in my hair. I teased her about eating them without asking for permission. She introduced me to her mother. As her mother went off, she sat down to chat with me at the table.

I enjoyed her company. I was young in the dream and she was my age. White, with short brown hair, she impressed me with her self-confidence and humorous outlook. We ended up running into one another and spending a lot of time together. She seemed always happy to see me. I had the impression that she looked for me.

Then, once when we were looking out a window, I saw my wife. Out on her knees by the sidewalk, she was planting small bushes. I realized that she’d volunteer to help with a beautification project, and she’d done it all on a whim.

I said as much to my companion. This seemed to change her demeanor, as she left the table after a few minutes and disappeared into the throngs.

In another shift, I was preparing to leave. I was driving somewhere.

I decided to eat first and entered a bustling business. It was both auto-repair and food. The man behind the counter was a large, swarthy, jovial person. He was separating the customers in line between auto-needs and food. When he asked me what I wanted, I replied, “I’m hungry, I’m looking for food.”

Pretending to be aghast, he asked, “And you came here? Then you made a mistake.” Then he winked and pointed. “Go forward, the lady up there will help you.”

I wanted rice with food in a bowl but decided to leave without it. Then a friend joined me. I was giving him a ride. I told him we’d leave in a minute, I wanted to get food. Then I saw the toys like the one I’d been playing with when I met the woman. I looked for her there. After not seeing her, I told my friend, “Lets’s go.”

We went out and entered my convertible sports car. We were turning left onto a four lane road. I said, “Hold on, because I’ll need to accelerate hard to get across to where I want to go.” As he said okay, the light changed.

We rounded the corners. Stepping on the accelerator, I downshifted to a lower gear. I missed the shift. My car stalled.

I was shocked. Fortunately, traffic was light and the car was pulled to the left, by a median strip of dry brown grass.

After realizing what I’d done, I went to start the car and saw the keys were missing from the ignition. As I processed that, I realized that there was a second ignition on the floorboard to the left, and that’s where the key was. Reaching down, I turned the key, started the engine, and engaged a car. The dream ended as I began driving away.

February 6, 2020 0

Recruiting & Black Powder Dream

Fade in…

They were trying to make me a recruiter. Military? I wasn’t sure.

A friend was a well-established recruiter and something of a star. They wanted me to be like him. When he appeared in my office dream scene, he was well dressed in a navy blue business suit with tie, clean-shaven, with tight, neat hair. He said some things that I couldn’t quite follow, and others asked brief, insightful questions. He answered those, and was gone.

Afterward, the rest said, “See? That’s how it’s done. That’s what we want you to do.”

I agreed. “That’s what I want to do. But how’s it done?”

They told me that I needed to begin by dressing right. I was dressed casually in jeans and a shirt. I need to change that clothing style, and also get a haircut.

I began by trying to cut my hair. It was short in the front, but grew as a long and thick, brambly bush down my back. I couldn’t see my hair, so I was trying to cut it by using my silhouette and a mirror that showed my side profile. Using a power hedge trimmer, I managed to cut some hair but it grew back.

Don, the superstar recruiter, returned. He sat in on a pitch I made. It was okay. I sat with him in his office as he reviewed information and made a pitch. I saw that it didn’t begin with the image. The image was a culmination and result, that his hard work behind the scenes, and intense activity was what created his success. I needed to put a lot more time in.

Fade out.

I’m at a house with Mom and her husband, and other family members. The house is large and the scene is chaotic. A lot of it has to do with everyone’s schedules and the bathrooms. There are two bathrooms, one on each level. Who is using which one? Mom is getting ready to go. It’s involved. She’s dressing, but also looking for her bag.

I find Mom’s back and help her with it. She wants a gun in her back. I find one and put it in. She’s still talking about that, but I keep telling her, “Mom, it’s already in your back.” She replies, “I want a different one.”

My sister is there, advising me on what to do. I’m confused. She tells me to use a litter box to go to the bathroom, then scoop everything up, take it to the bathroom, and flush it away. Her answer exasperates me because it seems ridiculous.

“I don’t want to use the litter box. That’s another and unnecessary step. I want to just use the bathroom.”

She and her friend laugh at that, irritating me.

I go up and watch a plumber work by the front door. An old friend goes by. He’s now my brother. I tell the the plumber that my brother does the same thing that the plumber does. He replies, “Yes, I know, I taught him.”

Scene shift. For some reason, I’m in a robe, in a tub, on wheels. The skin on my entire body is covered what seems to be blackface. It’s a powder, not a grease or lotion. As I rubbed it, I knew that it was sun protection.

My brother-in-law got in his car, a powder-blue Chevy convertible. I discovered that the tub was hitched to the car’s rear. As he started the car, we exchanged questions and answers about what he was doing. He was going to get the mail, it was just a short drive, and I could stay where I was. That horrified me. I didn’t want people to see me like this because they’d get the wrong idea.

Waving that off, he reversed his car. We were in a garage. He told me, “Just sit back and relax.” Then he backed the car up. The tub that I was in gently pushed the doors apart.

He backed into the sunlit driveway and the street with me in the bathtub in a robe in black powder leading the way.

I was mortified but I also enjoyed it. As promised, the drive was brief. People seemed to notice me but none seemed upset. The wind was blowing through my hair and the sun was warm and comfortable.

We pulled into the garage.

Dream end.

February 5, 2020 0

A Randy Dream

First, my buddy was there, Randy. Randy died years ago, colon cancer, just before his sixtieth birthday. He was two months older than me.

Suddenly, in my dream, he was still the hale and hardy southern boy I’d always known, a man without an ounce of remorse, but charming and polite, a rogue right out of a Faulkner novel. He was always an entertaining and generous man.

So he was in my dream, coming along as he did, naked, as he was, which was startling. Part of my conscious mind intruded, hollering, “Time out! Why is Randy, who is dead, naked in my dream?” Dream me just ordered, “Go with it, dude.”

Still, it was non-plussing to be visiting Randy at his house. Naked, he was talking and entertaining me, talkin’ about sports and music, while providing beer and hot wings.

Okay.

Sometime during the dream flow, the house spun, or I left, or Randy left. Maybe it’s just a dream gap. However and whenever, I was now out in a woods, on a hill, by a cave. I’d been walking and was sweating, so I stopped to drink some water.

I’d noticed the cave. Weeds and brambles were growing around the entrance. The entrance’s squared-off appearance made me wonder what was within, and enticed me to explore. Searching for what might be within the cave — is it a cave or an old mine? What makes me think it’s an old mine? — I entertained entering it but hesitated. One, it looked dark. Two, I didn’t have a light. Three, there might be animals within in. Four, it might collapse.

But it looked sturdy, tall, and wide. The entrance seemed to be reinforced with cut granite. Beginning to think that it was part of a train tunnel, or for cars, I looked for railroad tracks, a road, or some vestiges that could be evidence of its previous use.

While this is all happening, I’m suddenly aware a man is there. White guy, not particularly old in appearance, but still with a balding gray head and a tidy gray goatee. I thought he was was wearing a toga but then he seemed to be in a suit but without a tie. I think he was barefoot. I also wondered if he’d come out of the tunnel, but he was behind me, so I thought, no, that can’t be right. Was he there before?

I then saw a pile of railroad ties to one side, prompting, aha, this probably was built as a train tunnel. Thinking that encouraged me to want to explore the tunnel because a tunnel is safer than a cave, was the reasoning, partly because it’ll be open on the other end and lead somewhere.

The man and I hadn’t addressed one another. In fact, I had the impression that he didn’t want to be disturbed. Just something about his demeanor.

Now, though, he was approaching me. I turned polite, expectant attention his way. He was holding a gray mortar and pestle. As I took him in with some wariness, I had the impression that he was offering that to me.

Which he was. “Here, this is for you.”

“What is it?” It looked like off-white shavings. I was suspicious.

“Medicine.”

“Medicine for what?”

“For everything. It’ll cure everything. Take as much as you want.”

“Okay, don’t mind if I do.” I reached in and took with my fingertips, then pushed it into my mouth.

Randy showed up and said, “I’ll take some of that.” He then helped himself as the man shrugged and said, “Help yourself, there’s plenty here.”

The dream ended.

February 4, 2020 5

The Acting Dream

This began as a budget dream.

I was sitting before a bank of computer monitors. Someone working for me said I was going over budget by a million dollars. I wasn’t bothered by that (and was actually amused) but it did need addressed. He told me that he noticed that I was using certain sequences of material in my budget and suggested alternative material available online at a Simpsons website.

Finding a keyboard, mouse, and monitor, I found the website. While we looked at it together, the worker told me that he was surprised that I didn’t know about it. Everybody knew about it. I agreed with him, the info on that website would work for me.

Then he told me that Oliver was looking for me. He said Oliver had an outline of something and he thought I’d be perfect for it. Oliver wanted me to sign up for it.

I went off in search of Oliver. Wandering outside, I crossed a broad, campus-like setting. I was dressed in very casual, loose gym clothes. Everyone else that I encountered were dressed in school uniforms. I suspected that I was going to be upbraided for being in these clothes, but I didn’t care. I was comfortable.

It was late afternoon. Most students were finished with classes and ended in the opposite direction, but some were still being lectured. As I made my way toward the main body, several told me that Oliver was looking for me.

Seeing some white tents, I headed for them, thinking that’s probably where Oliver is. As I encountered others, I stopped to talk. Oliver — who reminded me of Oliver Platt — came up. He told me that he had an outline for me, that I’d be perfect for it, and he needed me to sign up for it. I told him, okay, I’ll sign up. That made Oliver really happy.

I went off, heading back toward my office. I wandered a bit, visiting with other people. Someone came up and told me that Oliver was looking for me. They said that he had something new. I said that I’d already seen Oliver and had signed up for his outline, and that I was going to do it for him. They said, no, this is something else that Oliver is doing.

I went off to find Oliver again. More folks who said Oliver was looking for me because he had something for me were encountered. Oliver then came up. I told him that I’d already agreed to sign up for his outline. Yes, Oliver said, but I have a few other new things. One of these other things was something that I’d need to try out for, but I’d be perfect. I was confused about what Oliver wanted until I realized that he wanted me to act in something for him. He clarified and verified that’s what he wanted.

I was hesitant because I had his other project going on, and my own writing projects. Oliver talked me into agreeing, and after some thought, I decided that I could do his projects (which now, it seemed, were three), and that I could also write. This made Oliver extremely happy. He told others that I’d agreed, and that made others happen. Seeing how happy and excited he and the others were made me happy and existed.

The day was getting late. Oliver, me, and two others went home. Oliver told the other two that he wasn’t cooking dinner for them. He’d been doing all the cooking and was tired of doing that. One of the others said that he had a burrito that he could eat. The other said, okay, he’d find something.

I decided I wasn’t worried about eating. I had many more things to do and wanted to go write because I was going to be very busy and didn’t want to waste time.

The dream ended.

February 3, 2020 0

The Fortune Teller Dream

The dream began in a small house. It seemed (these things are not always spelled out in dreams) that the house belonged to a family member. I was staying with them, along with my wife, as part of a visit. Not a large house, it was crowded with people, but the atmosphere was pleasant. The dream took place in the living room, which had green shag carpeting.

We were preparing for a visit, or inspection. I’m not certain which. A woman was present who was a councilor or adviser; I wasn’t certain of her role, but she was authoritarian.

This was happening in the morning. The inspections were due in hours. Someone unfamiliar was asleep on the sofa under a blue sleeping bag. I could only see the dark hair on top of their head.

We were all wondering in soft tones, “Who is that?” And answering, “I don’t know. I’ve never seen them before. They arrived last night.” Coming into the room and hearing us, the woman finally explained that it was son. “Don’t mind him. He needed a place to sleep for the night.”

Oh, okay. We all accepted that without question. A young ginger cat was running in and out, bringing in mulch and leaves after it rolled on the ground or something. Talking with the others, I said that I was going to vacuum the cat and get the dirt off of it. After I caught the cat, I started vacuuming him. He tried to run away, but then he started enjoying the process. I thought that he had realized that I was cleaning him as he turned to let me access different places with the vacuum nozzle.

The woman’s son awoke. Vague introductions were made. Tall and unshaven with short black hair, he looked liked he’d been living rough. He had some appointment, he said, and would be leaving soon. He seemed withdrawn and subdued. He and I spoke, small, friendly exchanges. I was curious about him, pumping him for more details. He finally, hesitantly, attempted to explain. He would do it with cards.

He said he was a fortune teller. He drew cards out of his pocket. They were made of torn newspaper. “I’m not allowed to have real cards,” he said.

Why? I had to ask. “It’s complicated,” he replied.

Meanwhile, he’d dealt the cards into three piles. I was a little bewildered, because I thought I only saw three cards. They didn’t have markings, but newspaper columns and ads. “No, there are more,” he said. “You can’t see them.”

Sure, I thought, humoring him. I said, “Oh, is this three card Monte?”

“No,” he said. “I do fortunes. I read fortunes in cards.”

I went to pick up a card to examine it, asking him if I could as I reached for it. “No,” he replied, putting a hand out to stop me. “You can’t touch the cards or bet on them. That’s against my terms.”

“Your terms?” I was trying to understand what he meant.

He seemed embarrassed. “The terms of my sentencing, and parole. I’m not allowed to have real cards, bet on cards, or let others bet on them. Nobody can touch my cards, because that would make them real cards. That would…” He seemed to search for words. “That would give me. Power.”

I was like, “What’s that mean? What’d you do? What happened?”

He said, “I’m going to tell you your fortune.” He picked up a flimsy newspaper card and looked at it.

The dream ended.

February 1, 2020 0

The Writer Dream

I dreamed I was with another writer. He never came into focus for me so I can’t provide a description.

We were in a small, long room with cinder block walls that were painted light green. He and a few others were seated at a long folding table that’d been set up. They were sitting on metal folding chairs. I was across from them. The writer been published after long years of effort. His first published book was a bestseller, so now, suddenly, they wanted more of his work to publish.

Several people were present, helping him, but I remained a spectator. He had cardboard boxes of stuff. First, he pulled out novels that he’d written that were printed out on computer fan-fold paper using a dot-matrix printer. After making three stacks of those, he added another stack of printed standard paper. Then he drew out stacks of black five and a quarter floppy discs and made a neat collection of those. Last, he drew out colorful three and a half inch floppies and made another tall deck. This was his work, which made me laugh. I wanted to say, hey, I have all those at home, too.

A blonde woman who’d been sitting by and helping said, “Okay, now we need to get these out to people. How’re we going to do that?” Some conversation that I couldn’t follow came up.

Then, bizarrely, we were walking. Leaving an airport gate, we headed out of one terminal and into another, going for a down escalator. A woman in a dark blue sweater was ahead of us. Glancing over her shoulder quickly twice, I realized that she was interested in the blonde woman that I accompanied. Then I knew that the blonde woman was famous (but I didn’t know why) and that the woman in the sweater was a fan.

I said to the sweater woman, “It’s okay, you can approach.”

She pretended not to hear me (that was my impression). I said something to the blonde woman. Smiling, she replied, “I’ll take care of it.” Increasing her stride a bit, she caught up with the other person, and said, “Hi,” in a wonderfully friendly voice. “I saw you look at me and thought that I’d like to meet you.”

That’s when the dream ended.