In Your Dreams...
Thursday, June 29, 2006
I rarely dream, and if I do, I rarely remember what I dreamt. Last night was a rare exception. The night before last, we had an enormous picnic and fun fair with my son's preschool and didn't get home until quite late. All of us slept in this morning. We fell asleep with the patio door open and could hear the waves rolling onto the beach outside. All the fresh air and soothing sounds made me dream. And this is what I dreamt...
George Bush was coming to give a lecture at my place of employment and I was tasked with showing him around. There were no secret service or police. Just him and I. Naturally, Canada is such a safe place; no need to fear Canadians. We are getting along quite nicely, he and I. I am politely trying to explain that Canada is not a State in the Americas. The Presidents's eyes glaze over and he informs me that he needs to go to the toilet (we generally say washroom here, I thought; this is a rather rude thing to say)...I tell him it is on the next floor above us and I decide to stay in the library (where we had presently been talking, or rather I was talking and he was thinking about the closest can). I am reading and enjoying myself and then realize that a really long time has passed. No one even seems to have noticed that I was escorting the President of the United States around. Ho hum. So I decide to go looking for him. I open the door to the stairwell and there he is; a look of agony on his face and on the floor, having obviously fallen down the stairs. His leg is bent in an obviously broken position.
I tell him that I will go for help. I leave him there and walk to the nearest hospital, which has suddenly become conveniently attached to my place of employment. It never occurred to me to call 911 from the library. No, of course not. I wander into the Emergency and quietly and calmly ask if an ambulance can be sent to the stairwell because, well, the President of the United States is laying there with a broken leg. And there ended my dream.
I awoke annoyed at myself. All this time alone with the President and I didn't take the opportunity to tell him how I really feel about his Politics?! I didn't take the chance to give him a piece of my mind when he was down and couldn't run away from me!? Why didn't I say something like "Sign Kyoto and I'll call you an ambulance..." Anyone who goes back to some of my earliest posts on this blog can learn about my thoughts on this President, but you probably get the idea already. I have given him the middle finger (both of them, in fact) when he came to Halifax.
And then I realized why I didn't. I feel sorry him. He can't help it that he is so stupid. It's a disability. Akin to a broken leg. His brain is partially broken.
NOTE: American friends, of course your opinions and comments, of all varieties, are most welcome. Feel free to disrespect the Canadian government. They currently deserve it as well.
George Bush was coming to give a lecture at my place of employment and I was tasked with showing him around. There were no secret service or police. Just him and I. Naturally, Canada is such a safe place; no need to fear Canadians. We are getting along quite nicely, he and I. I am politely trying to explain that Canada is not a State in the Americas. The Presidents's eyes glaze over and he informs me that he needs to go to the toilet (we generally say washroom here, I thought; this is a rather rude thing to say)...I tell him it is on the next floor above us and I decide to stay in the library (where we had presently been talking, or rather I was talking and he was thinking about the closest can). I am reading and enjoying myself and then realize that a really long time has passed. No one even seems to have noticed that I was escorting the President of the United States around. Ho hum. So I decide to go looking for him. I open the door to the stairwell and there he is; a look of agony on his face and on the floor, having obviously fallen down the stairs. His leg is bent in an obviously broken position.
I tell him that I will go for help. I leave him there and walk to the nearest hospital, which has suddenly become conveniently attached to my place of employment. It never occurred to me to call 911 from the library. No, of course not. I wander into the Emergency and quietly and calmly ask if an ambulance can be sent to the stairwell because, well, the President of the United States is laying there with a broken leg. And there ended my dream.
I awoke annoyed at myself. All this time alone with the President and I didn't take the opportunity to tell him how I really feel about his Politics?! I didn't take the chance to give him a piece of my mind when he was down and couldn't run away from me!? Why didn't I say something like "Sign Kyoto and I'll call you an ambulance..." Anyone who goes back to some of my earliest posts on this blog can learn about my thoughts on this President, but you probably get the idea already. I have given him the middle finger (both of them, in fact) when he came to Halifax.
And then I realized why I didn't. I feel sorry him. He can't help it that he is so stupid. It's a disability. Akin to a broken leg. His brain is partially broken.
NOTE: American friends, of course your opinions and comments, of all varieties, are most welcome. Feel free to disrespect the Canadian government. They currently deserve it as well.
This entry was posted on Thursday, June 29, 2006 at 9:37 PM.
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11:20 PM
Scrappy Rose;
Oh, I didn't see that coming! What a hoot! :)