That Could Have Gone So Much Worse…

Dearest Rachel –

That title pretty much sums up last night’s dream, honey.

Don’t know where it came from; as cold as I may have felt, I did sleep in my clothes to mitigate the chill, so I shouldn’t have been feeling it in my unconsciousness. And as for the rest of it, well, I recall something of a first draft dream earlier on, but I don’t know where it came from any more than the headliner.

And now that I’ve mentioned it, I suppose I should tell you about the first draft before going into the main story. In it, I was given the point of view of a fellow who apparently was applying for the job of sheriff of a small wild west town. And not a moment too soon, either, because almost immediately upon settling in, the bank was robbed of about $10,000. So it falls to my character to investigate what happened.

Fairly straightforward stuff, you’d think, and the investigation was helped along by my discovery of the note demanding the amount from the teller blowing along in the wind on my way to the bank. So I took the note with me to ask the teller involved if they remembered this note being presented to them. Hopefully I could dust it for prints, and get some records as to who might’ve done this.

Now, I don’t recall seeing any other investigators – or any other police or authorities of any kind, for that matter – when I walked in, but when I presented the note to the teller, asking them to identify it, sirens went off, and the place went on lockdown immediately thereafter. The next thing I knew, I was being arrested for theft of $20,000 from this bank – presumably on two separate occasions.

I don’t know how that could’ve happened, but that’s how the scene ended.

It would seem that my brain was not satisfied with how that first story went, so it decided to modify it somewhat. The second time around, we were driving together in northern Wisconsin during winter. Not sure if we were heading home from Fort Wilderness or from a family reunion up at Whitecap (although those were generally held deliberately in summer, when the ski resort didn’t host actual paying customers), but we were both expressing relief and getting away from the cold, the deep snow and those messy gravel parking lots.

Of course, we would still have to deal with a few on the way home. You received a call from nature, as you were won’t to do on long road trips, and the car (and apparently we ourselves) needed filling up in any event, so we attempted to pull into a sort of truck stop along the way to get all these matters taken care of. Somehow, rather than pulling up to a pump, I went to try and park – maybe there was a restaurant we’d decided to go to? In any event, it was some deep snow to try and drive through, even in the parking lot. Traction was hard to come by, and I’m pretty sure I slid into a car or two along the way – fortunately, without significant result.

Once I did finally get the car into a suitable parking spot, and struggled my way to the diner portion of the truck stop, I found myself confronted by you, pointing a gun at me.

Apparently, you had picked it up from where it had been dropped in the snow; why you were pointing it at me, I’m not sure. Perhaps you thought momentarily that I was the thief who dropped it. In any event, I was at least able to note the curious fact that the gun was entirely gilded. Essentially, you were ‘the woman with the golden gun,’ although I’m not sure what kind of action movie could be made out of that title. Anyway, you didn’t fire it, so that could’ve gone so much worse. However, you did have your fingerprints all over it from picking it up, so that wasn’t the best of plans, and I think the dream ended before everything was sorted out. Whether we, or the clerk, explained the situation to any authorities that arrived later on, I’m not entirely certain. Then again, that’s dream logic for you; nothing is quite wrapped up to one’s satisfaction, and you have to live with the story you’re given, or discard it for all the holes it contains. Which, I suppose, is why most of us tend to forget our dreams shortly thereafter – because they don’t make enough sense.

I’ll leave it at that for now, as I need to put myself together for the day. I’ve observed before that it’s always strange that the days I need to get going the earliest are now on the weekends, but that’s life for me these days.

I’ll talk to you later, honey. Until then, keep an eye out for me.

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I am Rachel's husband. Was. I'm still trying to deal with it. I probably always will be.

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