I spent most of last night cycling between consciousness and unconsciousness. I was unable to sleep decently, because our inspector was expected to come today. Yes, today, Christmas Eve; this douche has done it before.
In the midst of all my troubles with fatigue and rest, I had a dream, a dream that gives me a justification to what I’ve dedicated my life to these last 10 years. In my dream, I had a house. My house. The feeling was superb. I was married, and the immediate family was visiting.
After the family left, I had the misses. She was all mine, to have and hold, all for me without discontent or life issue. It was beautiful.
I spend far too much time gazing into the past to find my answers. Hollywood could be right that the present is all that matters, but I don’t buy it. That dream showed me potential, and potential doesn’t come from the present; it’s a gift that keeps on giving if the proper investment is made.
I’ve always known what I’ve wanted. This dream, a projection of my subconscious, shows me that I’m going I’m the proper direction. The time for the present is in the future, and we well enjoy it then, Lady, as we work now to gain that ability to enjoy our lives fully and freely into our old age. Unfortunately, our dreams are nothing but that. Our dreams are not false, but rather the potential we hold in each other. I want that house off the beaten path where ideas flourish and minds wander, so we can mingle with the stars as we make our way to the life we want to live.