Last night I dreamt that I was going to jail.
Needless to say, it was stressful.
I tried to run, scream, explain my way out of the situation. At one point, I even put on a disguise and tried to slip out of town.
Finally, four black suburbans parked in front of my house. Men in dark suits with sunglasses approached my door. I let them in and then proceeded to bake them cookies. (I bake in times of crisis. True story.) After they ate a few, they took me away in handcuffs.
And then my alarm went off. I have never been more thankful for my alarm. (Actually, I have never ever been thankful for my alarm.)
I woke up tired, sad and relieved. Isn't it strange how dreams do that to you? I felt like I had just fought a battle and waded through the loss of what my life would/could/should look like.
It seemed so tragic yet strangely familiar.
So, I called my dad.
And do you know what he said? He said, "Sarah, stop watching all of those shows on TV with black suburbans and men in black suits. It's not good for you."
A voice of reason from one on the inside.