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Care to hear about my weird dream?

Care to hear about my weird dream? I think you would. So I get into an elevator on my way to a job interview/going away party for a magazine. This guy Marc, who is someone I know in real life, is in the elevator and his pants are around his ankles and he’s smirking at me, but not in a menacing creepy way, more like he’s making fun of me. At that point I notice that it feels kind of breezy and I look down and my pants are also around my ankles. I make some hasty remark and pull that shit up. Then we get out and the editor in chief of the magazine walks by me and says hi and then the editor in chief, another version of the same woman but this one is pregnant walks by and gives me the cold shoulder. I stand there wondering who that first version was. Then a bunch of people are clustered around a room which, in the dream, is this woman Sid’s (again this person exists in real life) room and the walls are gold and the furniture is white. This will be my office or something, or it’ll be a lot of people’s offices, hence we’re all looking at it. I’m noticing the way Sid has mounted shelves going up the walls. I comment that it looks like a childhood bedroom. That’s all I remember although I know there was much more to the dream.

It probably means I’m going to win the lottery, right?

Also, I think I’ve mentioned on here that a literary agent once told me that people’s dreams are only interesting to them. Clearly she hadn’t heard any of my dreams because I bet you can’t put this blog down! I bet you are rapt. I bet you are slack jawed and drooling, waiting for what comes next. I bet you are putty in my hands. I bet you are wrapped around my finger. I bet you are googling dream meanings right now. I bet you are swarthy yet smell like rain. You don’t? Ok, never mind.

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