So yesterday was Easter, and like many, I ate too much of everything. I ate too much ham, kielbasa, potatoes, and mac and cheese. Then I went to bed and whooboy! Last night I had weird dreams, like REALLY weird dreams. Not Smurfs dancing weird, but still…WEIRD.
I biked 6.1 miles this morning while watching Honest Trailers on my phone, so I made up for it! Though I’m sure that cannoli will be sticking around for a while. Right now I’m debating on whether or not to eat the other one sitting in my fridge right now. RESIST!
Anyway, so I had this dream, and, like most dreams, it switched perspective and storyline, and was generally confusing. The last part of the dream, though, was super SUPER clear.
Here’s the scene: I was leaving the White House (rather, getting kicked out of it) and I had a colorful way of saying goodbye to the current ferret in chief. Just as I got over the threshold, I heard someone ask me for ID. I figured this was odd, considering the fact that I was just kicked out of the White House, but I complied because I knew the person asking. I pulled my license from my back pocket and was confronted with none other than Hillary Rodham Clinton.
Now, if this happened in real life (not being asked for ID or being kicked out of the White House, but meeting Mrs. Clinton) I would be SUPER surprised. I probably would be unable to formulate a coherent sentence. This is the woman who won the popular vote and who SHOULD BE in the White House right now, but…alas…the Russians, I mean, Democrazy (yes, that’s spelled correctly) had other ideas. So…back to the dream.
Apparently HRC and I were mad tight because I said, “You know who I am,” as I showed her my ID (LIKE A BOSS!). She looked at me and said, “Erica…You can’t keep doing this.”
Now, let’s take a moment to think about that. That statement implies that the act of me flipping off the orangutan in the Orange House is a known thing in this alternate dream reality. I was really proud of that. I wanted this alternate dream reality to be actual real reality! Like Earth 2 or the 616!
Anywho…Mrs. Clinton takes me by the arm, like a mom would do, and leads me away and suddenly we’re in a park. We’re walking along a pathway and it’s beautiful and green, but, despite the scenery, I’m melancholy. I tell her about how frustrated I am with the state of the world. I tell her about how angry and sad I am and how I’m sad that I’m angry. She listens to all of it. She nods sympathetically. She puts her hand on my shoulder and tells me that it’ll all be okay. She hugs me like a mom. LIKE. A. MOM. She tells me that I’ll be okay, that we’ll ALL be okay, that we’re stronger than I think we am. She’s amazing. It was everything I needed to hear from anyone, but especially from her.
Then, just as the dream is about to end, Hillary Clinton ends by telling me that I can’t break into the bad tan house anymore. That was the sad part. But getting hugged by Hillary Rodham Clinton was the awesome part, even if it was just in a dream.
If I ever meet her in real life, I’ll hug her and thank her. She’ll likely have secret service tear me away before I could get close to give her a hug, but if you’re reading (doubtful), Mrs. Clinton…thank you.