I know there are people out there who make a good living interpreting dreams. There always has been people like that. And it must be a great racket. Someone describes something both mundane and bizarre to you, and you tell them that it represents the fear that they had as a child whenever an airplane ran over their pet lion. Or something like that. Nobody is going to disprove this, so you hand over a wad of cash and everybody is happy.
So I wonder what someone would make of last night's mish-mosh, what with the packing to get on the plane, being a little late because of the packing, my wife working out some deal with the airlines for free tickets to somewhere -- tickets we couldn't use -- and me hurrying through the parking lot. And at the end of it, I seem to have found a ticket to New York, a solo ticket. But for some reason, the finale took place in an eatery, a breakfast place, and the free tickets seemed to have some validity there. In fact, I think the chef arranged everything.
Even though it's usually the butler that did it.
So I moved on from that to a banker's dream, wherein the scenario involved paperwork and contracts and some complicated plan involving contingencies concerning another bank, or dealer, or third party of a type unknown to me at this hour of the morning. I have no idea what was going on except to say that the papers I was given by the first party were greeted with suspicion by the second party.
Party on Garth.
Because when you start dreaming about legal issues and banking procedures, it's time to switch from that high-caffeine sports drink to something a little tamer. Psilocybin, perhaps.
But I'm still sure about that butler.
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