I dream prophetic. Pretty cool, eh?
Thursday night I dreamed a little dream, a variation of a recurring, if pleasant, nighttime fantasy where I own a dude ranch in California that caters to the rich and famous. In most variations I have a lanky, golden, stunning Hollywood A-list-er as a business partner. (Obviously – where else was I going to get all that start-up capital?) Yea me! Too bad that’s not the divinatory part.
In this rendition, The Douche showed up to pugnaciously demand his “share” of the profits. (Because clearly I’m a savvy business woman and my little imaginary ranch makes mad moolah.) Just desserts, my subconscious wouldn’t stand for it, and his belligerence spooked a horse that delivered a well-placed kick…
Put aside all your Freudian theories of dream analysis…but didn’t he text me on Friday evening. We have had zero communication since the papers were finalized over a month and a half ago. Honestly, I’ve been so busy and been having such a good time living my own life; I haven’t given him much thought lately.
Yet he appears in my dream and the next day he texts me? And guess what he was looking for? Money.
See, I have The Foretelling. I wonder when I might meet a famous actor who will want to buy a ranch and a bunch of horses with me. A girl can dream!