Dreams become reality.

You'd think that given the Hallmarkish title of this blog post, I'd be writing about great achievements and hardwork and, like, puppies and sunshine and babies and eep!!

Ha.

If you do, then you do not, apparently, know me or my deeply honed sense of sarcasm very well.

Let's rewind, if you will, to Saturday night when one passed-out-from-exhaustion Noodles collapses in bed. And so begins my night of weird dreams. There was one about being on an airliner that crash landed onto an interstate, but then we kept taxi-ing along the highway along with traffic and no one would listen when I demanded to be LET OFF THE PLANE! RIGHT! NOW! There was something work related and equally as traumatic. And then there was the weird dream that the mutt was puking on my covers.

Oddly, the dog vomit wasn't the most vivid of the trio. But it was definitely one that I remember, right down to seeing her move over the side of the bed where The (Ex) Boy used to sleep (good girl, btw, Macy) and seeing her tail bounce as she heaved.

In the words of the young prince of Denmark, according to Mr. Shakespeare, "To die. To sleep. To sleep: perchance to dream."

I wake up the next morning thinking, hum, weird night. Then my something hits my nose. Weird smell.

You can probably see where this is going. Plane crash? Work drama? Both slumbery, subconscious visions. Macy vomit? Not so much.

Sigh, indeed.