Dreaming

I awaken from a scandalous dream to quiet sluggishness in an earth toned room, warmed by sunlight. Rousing gently to the voice of reason, I softly tumbled into the present, formulating linear thoughts that began to make sense. Pleased with myself, I smiled and rolled over onto my right side – the more comfortable angle for a degenerative lumbar disc – and thought about the important message in my dream.

In dreamland, you see, I am an entrepreneur. A businesswoman, with one employee, finishing a day’s work by making the world smile. I don’t work for the man, and I sure as hell don’t take shit from nobody. Queen me, Lady Boss.  

What can I say? Business is booming.

In the CandyBar Car, we bring the chocolate fix to you. We travel far and wide, music up, windows down. And when the day is done, we pull over on the side of the busy freeway. 

No need to lock doors. We don’t roll the windows up. We abandon the car and walk miles home, and miles back, into the next day freely. 

People walk into oncoming traffic to catch my one employee and I; they catch our attention before we part ways with the CandyBar Car. They even ask us to wait, return to our open-closed car on the freeway, so that they can indulge in Butterfinger. We oblige them, with little dread. 

Why? I’m here to serve the people.

Besides, interruptions are like Bob Ross’ painting mistakes. “There are no mistakes, only happy accidents.” 

As the end of day’s dreamland shift carries into the beginning of day’s reality shift – I determine the lessons learned from the night as I bask in the sun, also momentarily before two unsolicited dick pics arrived on my cellular waves.

  • Invest in one employee for highway safety
  • Make the world smile
  • Eat the chocolate
  • Stay open, even when you think you’re closed. Not to unsolicited dick pics, though. Never be open to that.

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