Good morning, Readers!
Okay, I’m going to write about a dream I had. I know so many people find that tedious, so feel free to click off now.
Right, so the other day, I had quite the vivid dream. I was on a train trip. I cannot recall if the train was taking me somewhere specific or the train ride was the point of the trip. It was quite a swish train. Anyway, word got around the cars that in one of them was a man who claimed to grant wishes to anyone who asked.
So I and my travel companion headed off to what looked like the bar car to seek this man out and make our wishes.
If anyone cares, I don’t know who this companion was. I don’t think I now her in real life. She was older than me, I recall, but not by much. Anyway, I get to sit with the guy and we chat.
He looks like a regular man. He wore a brown suit. Had greying hair and a round, kindly face. He spoke softly, but there not without strength or confidence. Finally, in the course of this conversation, we get around to my wish.
And what do I wish for?
My own house, which I’ve wanted for forever? Success as a writer - being able to support myself with my writing alone, which I’ve wanted for forever? Did I wish to find my soulmate, which I haven’t really wanted but that seems a normal thing for folk to wish for?
No. No I did not.
You would think I would’ve; at least the first two, because they’re things I’ve wanted so desperately for so long. But did I? No.
What did I wish for?
A flat stomach.
What the actual fuck, dream me? Since when have you cared so much for that nonsense? I mean, I’ve certainly cared. My tummy is a source of shame for me and has been for a long time. But I would never throw away the opportunity to own my own home or to become a successful writer for that obnoxious vanity.
For real, dream me. I am legitimately pissed off at you.
Thank heavens it was only a dream and no random dude on a train can actually grant wishes. And no wishes granted in a dream have any chance of coming true.
Right?
Right?
Even so, what a stupid thing to wish for. For fuck’s sake.
Right, so the other day, I had quite the vivid dream. I was on a train trip. I cannot recall if the train was taking me somewhere specific or the train ride was the point of the trip. It was quite a swish train. Anyway, word got around the cars that in one of them was a man who claimed to grant wishes to anyone who asked.
So I and my travel companion headed off to what looked like the bar car to seek this man out and make our wishes.
If anyone cares, I don’t know who this companion was. I don’t think I now her in real life. She was older than me, I recall, but not by much. Anyway, I get to sit with the guy and we chat.
He looks like a regular man. He wore a brown suit. Had greying hair and a round, kindly face. He spoke softly, but there not without strength or confidence. Finally, in the course of this conversation, we get around to my wish.
And what do I wish for?
My own house, which I’ve wanted for forever? Success as a writer - being able to support myself with my writing alone, which I’ve wanted for forever? Did I wish to find my soulmate, which I haven’t really wanted but that seems a normal thing for folk to wish for?
No. No I did not.
You would think I would’ve; at least the first two, because they’re things I’ve wanted so desperately for so long. But did I? No.
What did I wish for?
A flat stomach.
What the actual fuck, dream me? Since when have you cared so much for that nonsense? I mean, I’ve certainly cared. My tummy is a source of shame for me and has been for a long time. But I would never throw away the opportunity to own my own home or to become a successful writer for that obnoxious vanity.
For real, dream me. I am legitimately pissed off at you.
Thank heavens it was only a dream and no random dude on a train can actually grant wishes. And no wishes granted in a dream have any chance of coming true.
Right?
Right?
Even so, what a stupid thing to wish for. For fuck’s sake.
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