I dreamed I had a encounter with Hillary Clinton at a salad bar. She was wrangling with a pepper mill and asking me if she should run again or not. I advised her "not," but she looked like she needed more convincing.
As much distaste as I had for her, I had to admire someone who won't take no for an answer. Kinda. And then again, not really.
We continued eating the bland iceberg lettuce, and I had that moment where you realize it's a dream and you should ought to just wake up but don't really wanna, on account of it's still dark outside, and you figure there may still be some adventures you can suck out of this dream. Turns out there wasn't.
Then Facebook notified me, with its plucky little "ding," that someone, somewhere, had something to say to me, and I had to wake up to see what that was all about. A random vet recommendation on my community information page. I already made my choice yesterday, but people keep chiming in. Oh, well, I think I'm gonna try for some more shuteye.
Well, that worked. I dreamed that I was with Sharon again. Same bedroom. Same bedridden body. And what do you suppose was on her mind for our nocturnal reunion? You got. Sex. I had my usual reaction of amazement at her pluck.
"You mean you still wanna do that, in your condition?" I said.
"You know it," she said, grinning determinedly.
I set about to get her into position, a job I'd previously dreaded because of the sheer logistical nightmare it presented.
"But we don't have some of the accessories, like the slippery sheets. I gave them away," I protested. We decided to make do with what we had, and she wound up rolled over somehow.
Before all that I'd been lying next to her and recognizing the fact that here was Sharon, alive again, and that I should be grateful and give her a big hug. I wrapped my arms around her naked, sprawled out body and tried my best to treasure what was left of her warmth.
I felt some detachment, like this was not as it should be, but I was determined not to make the same mistakes I'd made when she was alive, and I squeezed her even tighter. I suppose that's when she got the idea in her head that we should have sex, since I was there and she was there, already naked. Sure, makes sense.
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I've changed my comments settings to allow for anyone to comment. All comments are welcome, even spineless potshots from anonymous posters. Please, by all means, give me the tongue lashing I so richly deserve. I promise not to hunt you down and melt your keyboard with my plasma cannon. I won't, however, promise not to pout and make that face you can't stand.