Last night I had a dream. I was standing on the deck of an oil tanker, two pills in my hand, trying to muster the will to jump into the cold, gray water below, knowing I would drown if I did.
The next thing I knew I was in the water and a rescue team was headed my way. The water was not cold, but I was floundering helplessly in it nevertheless. I felt exhausted, embarrassed and grateful.
Then, I’m cleaning and cooking in the employee kitchen, trying to make myself at home on an offshore oil rig, doing my best to show my gratitude to the guys for generously sharing their space with me.
And THEN, there is a commotion and I look outside on the street (you know how dreams can be) to see a giant hot air balloon threading its way through skyscrapers. People are saying that it’s Bob come to get me, like the Wizard of Oz. I get so excited, I run as fast as I can, down to the street and towards the descending balloon.
Bob has had to let the air out of the balloon to set it down in the street and I’m plowing through rolling balloon silk to get to the basket. Our reunion is joyous and brief as he busies himself with the challenge of getting the balloon back up into the air. My heart is bursting with love and tears of relief threaten to spoil my vision as Bob re-inflates the balloon. I look up to see that the balloon is now a giant Mrs. Butterworth.
