Now here's the thing.
I had a dream last night.
Of course, that's not big news in itself as I dream every night.
I'm a dreamer.
I dream weird, weird things. My dreams are not necessarily happy ones where I flit through a field of flowers sporting long legs, thin hips and thighs, and beautifully tanned skin, nor are they typically horrible, scary, or gory.
No. Usually my dreams are just confusing.
And I suppose that's not a real surprise given my non-sleeping penchant for the rambling thought and the forever run-on sentence.
But in my dreams The Chief is always logical. Just as in real life. Orderly. Engineering-like. The way things should be.
I should say though, that in most of my dreams The Chief usually politely excuses himself before things get really confusing.
I'm telling you HE'S THAT GOOD AT PLANNING AHEAD.
So you can understand how disturbed I was when I woke up this morning at the the Crack of the A.M. and remembered the following:
I was dreaming that I lived in a house that was, well, alive. Or seemed to be. It talked, and did things like raise the garage doors whenever it took the notion, or started filling the bathtub, or you know, other things an ALIVE HOUSE WOULD DO.
But the really, really, creepy and disturbing thing about the dream was not that the house was exhibiting characteristics that your typical home on HOUSE HUNTERS probably wouldn't have.
No. The creepy thing was that when I told The Chief that I thought the house was, you know, possessed or something he calmly replied
"Lu, I think you might be right."
And I don't think I need to list for you the upteen many ways in which that is just frightening.
And oh so very wrong.
Perhaps a TAB or two will help me forget.