Dream, September 25th, 2014, illustrated with various website photos and links:
I’m at a local shopping mall in the center area downstairs where the halls cross. On a bench, I see three young women resting with their packages. One says, “My back is hurting.” I notice she is sitting slumped over, so I go over and tell her that her back probably hurts from the way she is sitting. I tell her I have taken some classes on posture and demonstrate the correct way to sit, “It’s more like sitting on the backs of your legs rather than on your tailbone.”
I also give her instruction on how to stand and how to walk and she says it feels weird. “I feel like I’m sticking my butt out.” Her friends laugh at her and call her duck butt. Oh well. I guess she’s rather have back pain than look dumb to her friends.
I leave them and go over to the food court. I decide to stand in line at the hot dog counter because there are only three people in front of me. Suddenly, a bunch of men in suits cut the line. They are facing away from me. I yell, “Hey, the back of the line is over here.” They turn around and to my surprise it is The Secret Service and President Obama. He smiles and says to me, “Some privileges come with being The President.”
I am irritated, “Oh yeah? Well cutting in line isn’t one of them. You need to wait like everybody else.” He turns away from me to place his order and I grab his arm and pull him out of line, “Hey, since I am a tax payer, you technically work for me and I say you need to wait in line like everybody else.” One of the men in black grabs me around the waist and President Obama laughs and say, “Let her go. She’s spunky. I like this girl.” Girl? I’m older than he is.
To my surprise, he stays at the back of the line and we start talking. I feel like I am 10 years old talking to my school principal: maybe because he is talking down to me as if I am a child. I feel young and defiant. I put my hands on my hips Peter Pan style and try to get a reaction out of him, “ I didn’t vote for you.” He shrugs unscathed, “A lot of people didn’t vote for me. But it’s California so I still won.”
We get our food and sit at one of the tables. He has a chili dog and a soda. I chose a pizza dog and an Orange Julius. I look around: where is the media? Isn’t this big news? No one seems to be paying any attention. Where are the cell phone pictures? Twitter anyone?
I decide to be more mature and keep the conversation light and friendly. I say, “So Barry, can I call you Barry?” (Mr. President is too formal, and Obama feels like I am a high school coach calling him by his last name.) He doesn’t object. I continue, “Have you ever had a chair balloon ride?” He doesn’t know what that is so I direct a few of his men in black to a party store to get a big bunch of helium balloons.
We attach them to his chair and the chair floats up into the air. Now he is the 10 year old, complete with the “Whee, this is fun!” And still no one is paying attention. The Secret Service men don’t seem concerned about his safety either.
I take a few balloons and attach them to my body and float up into the air. I say, “This is how you really do it. It’s better if you’re off the chair, then you can do flips.” And I do an air somersault.
Actually, I can fly without the balloons attached, but I don’t want anyone to know that. Then they would know I’m really from Mars.
Not your typical flying dream… But ducks have wings, and Peter Pan can fly, and balloons float, and Martians come from the sky. What do you think?