England

I ring my mother.
“Hello, hun, how’re you?”
“Oh, I’m in England.”
“You’re…What?!”
She hands the phone to my father. He tells me my mom’s gone hysterical and is putting money in my bank account. She doesn’t understand why I’m in England, but assumes I’ll return in a week or two.
But I was thinking more along the lines of a year or two.
I’m standing with a horse, and my bestfriend who looks like a curly-haired Mick Jagger. He’s British, and invited me to his home country, and home. His parents love me, they all have fabulous British accents, and my bestfriend is everything I could want.
What my parents don’t know is that I’m slowly falling for my bestie, and the scary part is that he is falling for me as well.

That was my marvelous dream lastnight. I also dreamt that I texted my boss telling her I couln’t come in to work because “I’m in England,” a slight variation from my dream the other night where I was speeding around Thailand on roller skates with my friends, trying to find a way back home when I didn’t have a Passport, and instead texting Michele saying I couldn’t come in to work since “I’m in Thailand.”
For someone who hardly ever dreams, my mind’s been pumping out grand illusions.