Apparently, I'm having a Tiger Beat psychotic break.Last night, I dreamt about Tim Armstrong. Specifically, hanging out with Tim in some anonymous airport, flirting with him, holding his very lovely hand, and inscribing my cell phone number in blue Flair on the inside of his wrist.
I had a dream I was a vigilante's sidekick...
And it was sweet. In all senses. Very 5th grade, just two steps away from passing the I-Like-You-Do-You-Like-Me? note in history class. I fought very hard to stay in that dream when my alarm clock went off.
I can't believe you're with me after dark, so let it come together in Echo Park...
Now the mists have evaporated and I'm left wondering: did I have a stroke or something? Have I become some love-starved weird old lady destined to prowl yard sales looking for used Harlequin romances? I already have two cats and a pretty serious Hallmark card problem. I don't need another reason for people to stare. And who has hand-holding dreams anyway?
And I dream of this girl - yeah, an angelical ghost I met dancing through my neighborhood...
That could be me.
Sure, it could.
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