The President of Dream World
Ever have one of those dreams where you’re standing at a table with Obama, Holder, and Obama junior yelling, “Mr. President, you have to stop killing this country! Now!” and that’s when you look over to find you have an IV sending high-powered antibiotics drip, drip, dripping through your arm?
And why would Obama Junior look at me as if I were crazy and say, “Please leave! My father is preparing me for the throne.”
Only in Dream World would I be that brave. You don’t know how much I dislike having to walk around with an IV drip in my arm.
Ever wake up to find a 68 pound fat white dog laying on your legs, panting. You put on your glasses and you’re staring into the frightened face of a dog saying, “What’s wrong mom? Are you going to die?”
Probably not. But I AM wondering what the hell she rolled in. No…she’s not the most fragrant blossom on the sewage plant but that’s not where the smell is coming from. It’s my breath.
I really, really, REALLY have to get this tooth pulled before it kills me. But there ARE priorities in life. First, I have to peel the dog off my legs so I can pee.
My heart is beating as if I’m about to die and I wonder, “Do I need antibiotics? Should I make an appointment with the doctor?” No. I have yet another dental appointment next week. I wonder what new and different dental procedures the school of dentistry has discovered that they just HAVE to try on me next? Maybe they’ll get around to creating a dental treatment plan before I turn 100.
Well, I’m up, I’m a year older and sitting at my home office typing this as I desperately try to stay awake. On second thought, I’m going to consult the sleep fairy called Ibuprofen and I’m going back to bed.
Right after I brush my teeth.