Apparently, I wrote this post in the summer of 2010 and never published it. I’m not sure why, as here in January 2012, I still find it amusing (and in the meantime, all of the boy/girlfriends referenced here have become husband/wives.) Maybe it’s because rule 145 of blogging is, “Don’t write about your dreams.” Oh, well. Consider yourself forewarned.
It also reminded me of the concept of “The List,” that mythical “Get Out of Conjugal Jail Free” card that many couples make for fun. I think I need to update my list, but it will still include the lovely Neil Gaiman if he’s anything like his counterpart that lives in my subconscious. That’s not creepy at all, right?
*Obligatory Neil-referencing Tori Amos lyric check title, because it fits, and also because I’m a big dork.
So, from the delirium that only a really bad headache or really good drugs can produce, I had an interesting evening of dreams. I’m sure reading about other people’s dreams is nearly as exciting as reading their grocery lists, but as this blog functions as sort of a journal for me, I’m going to indulge myself. Feel free to look away.
I have this odd recurring dream. Well, actually, I have a few. My dream world is apparently one that believes in mini-series, not movies. Most of my recurring dreams involve dead people. But my most interesting recurring dream involves a living writer and his also very much alive girlfriend.
For the past six months or so, I’ve been dreaming every few weeks about being the girlfriend of both Neil Gaiman and Amanda Palmer. They are engaged, if you didn’t know (and honestly, why would you unless you’re a big fan?) Anyway, the dreams are rather lovely, really, and not usually Adult Themed in any way. In general, we just lie about in a really big bed and cuddle and I listen to them expound charmingly on all manner of things. Yep, my “sexy” dreams are all about cuddling and good conversation. I Am So Old.
Anyway, last night, I was sleeping particularly deeply, and dreamed that I was back home, taking care of my great-granny (yet another recurring dream) and who should stop by to visit me- yes, my dream boyfriend, Mr. Neil Gaiman. Amanda was not along for the trip, which was somewhat disappointing, until he revealed the reason for his journey from Minnesota to deepest eastern NC- he was there to Make Me Feel Much Better. And oh, so he did! I am not ashamed (mostly) to tell you we consummated our dream love. And I’m a discreet lady, and not one to kiss and tell, but I will tell you this- conversation is only one of Dream Neil Gaiman’s many and considerable skills.
When I awoke, somewhat flushed, and relayed this dream to Bill, he was amused. I’ve been trying out enough vitamins to down a hippy elephant, in all different combinations, to try and get some relief on the sleep front for some time now. This level of dreaming at least proves that it’s working a little bit. I think he’s so grateful that I’m not rolling around all night long that he doesn’t care who I bone in my dreams. I was reassuring him the Dream Neil was skilled, but nowhere near as talented as him OF COURSE, when it occurred to me maybe I should ask him about The List.
Y’all know what I’m talking about- The List of Folks You and Your Partner Mutually Agree You Are Allowed to Lie Down with in a Carnal Way at Any Time, Should the Opportunity Arrive, No Questions Asked. Usually, this list includes famous people that there is no possible way for you to ever meet, much less hump, but that’s not the point- you make the list anyway. If Real Neil is anything like Dream Neil, I was thinking, I definitely want him on my list.
So I put the question to Bill, and he immediately agreed. “That would be so cool. I would be able to tell all my friends – Hey, my girlfriend slept with Neil Gaiman, and I’m totally ok with it! And they would all understand. I think it would be awesome if you slept with Neil Gaiman.”
Hear that, Neil? My boyfriend totally approves. Get clearance from Amanda, and we’re on! Or hell, bring her, too! I think she’s pretty cute.