The alarm rang but since I had no pressing commitments, I swatted at it sleepily and turned over for another half hour of sleep.
I'm glad I did because I fell back into a good dream.
Good dreams are rare in my sleep life.
If I am not dreaming actual horror movies complete with menacing shadows, dark stairwells or Justin Bieber preparing to sing, I am missing my pants and my homework as I wander, lost, in the halls of my high school...late to class and an important test for which I've forgotten to study.
This morning's dream was so pleasant that it classifies as what I have always referred to as a "vacation dream."
Nope, I wasn't in the Grand Caymans sipping a daquiri and watching endless reruns of The Nanny from my hotel room. It was a dream both so clear and yet unlike my own daily life that I awoke feeling as if I'd actually experienced it.
First and foremost, I looked just like Christy Turlington.
It could all have ended right there. That would have been more than enough but I discovered my super model looks upon glancing into a dream mirror in my dream bathroom that had a spa tub!!!
Good start, no?
It seems I had just moved to a new city for a great job in publishing...so, already, we are veering off into the realm of the bizarro. As unadventurous now as I was when I was younger, I would never have left home but, with the willowy looks and long legs (plus smooth hair and high cheek bones) of Miss Turlington, I was ready for anything.
It was my first day of work and I was seriously late but had helpful roommates including Patti Smith, the disheveled musician from the 70's, and David Bowie who was still in his Ziggy Stardust phase.
While much of the dream felt like a montage from the entire catalog of romantic comedies I've enjoyed over the years, I have no idea why these two were lurking in my subconscious.
Although I do love this song by Patti Smith.
In the dream, I ordered full fat frozen yogurt (what insanity!) from a place near my trendy apartment (oh,that tub!), a cab stopped for me immediately (in reality, I'd be in a packed subway car with my nose jammed into someone's armpit) and Richard Gere (not my first choice, but not bad) apparently, was my boss.
In the dream, I sensed immediately that while handsome and charming, he was deeply flawed but kind. Of course.
Keeping in mind that I have watched countless rom-coms in my lifetime, I could easily have been Drew Barrymore instead of Christy but Drew must have been under contract to star in someone else's dream at the moment. Lucky for me.
Along the way I asked a homeless man if I had spinach in my teeth (the answer was no), hurried up a steep flight of stairs without breaking a sweat or losing my breath (as if) and, since I was late, ran --light as a feather and nimble as a gazelle -- in high heels.
|Does well in heels|
That is the most far-fetched aspect of the entire dream. In reality, I cannot even be in the same room with anyone wearing heels without twisting an ankle and falling. Herman Munster would do better (and has--remember his shoes?) in heels than I.
Best of all, despite horrible time management (the only vestige of reality in this dream), I was on time for work.
I awoke, as usual, to a full litter box, a heap of unfolded laundry and the remnants of last night's tuna casserole in the sink but having been Christy Turlington, just a few minutes prior, I was feeling pretty darn chipper.
Everyone needs a dream like this now and again. Even you men. Just be sure to remember to swap Catherine Zeta Jones for Richard Gere. You'll enjoy it more.
I will take the rapidly fading sensations of this "vacation dream" with me as I head out for today's errands. Stumbling about in my Birkenstocks with not a cheekbone to be had and anything but smooth hair, I will again inhabit a familiar form and accomplish familiar tasks.
Only I will know that I am Christy Turlington.