sweet dream

On Saturday night, I dreamed of Barack Obama.

I was back in college. He was a professor. It was Thanksgiving. He was organizing an ‘orphan’s thanksgiving’ for all of us who had no where else to go. [I always had places to go on Thanksgiving, but in dreamland I didn’t.] And it became a huge production. People abandoned their plans with their families in order to go to Barack’s house. I was in charge of baking the pies (I explained to Barack how my family always has key lime pie for Thanksgiving, but that I can’t find the ingredients in Belgrade.) and writing the thank-you notes (which made sense in the dream). Over dinner, Barack described Illyrian architecture. (Is there such a thing as Illyrian architecture?) My dreams are rarely so interesting... usually just my teeth falling out.

I do want him to be the next American president… I know he’s a little young and inexperienced, but I am not at all excited about anyone else.

And he passed my dream test, which means quite a bit in my own little world. Usually when I dream about famous people or acquaintances, they do terrible things. In college, I dreamed that one of my professors killed my mom. I couldn’t look him in the eye the rest of the semester.