I read the article about people who blog around the clock – “until they drop.” I actually read it twice.  That’s how surprised I was.  I typically only blog when something really embarrassing happens.  If I had to blog around the clock that would mean my entire life was just one long humiliating incident.   I try to come up with all sorts of excuses for not blogging, but the truth is most of the time nothing much happens and so I have nothing to say.  Had I chosen to blog about politics or celebrities or some other news that doesn’t involve me, that would be a different story.  Unfortunately, no can do.

Now, here’s something though.  Last night I dreamt that Oprah and I went shopping.  Mostly for housewares.  I picked up a pair of sconces that I already have, but in my dream I’d never seen anything like them!  Oprah was as thrilled for me as I was for myself.  I wish you could have seen us there.  Walking arm and arm, talking a mile a minute about her empire and my new lipstick. And then I must have said something hilarious because Oprah couldn’t stop laughing. We had to stop walking so she could catch her breath. The whole time I couldn’t help noticing how many people were staring at us, but we ignored them. We were in our own little world. Ops and me.

  As I recall, it was quite a multi-sensory experience, as dreams go. It wasn’t just that I was holding Opseys’ hand and watching people react to us, or simply hearing her laugh, I could actually smell Oprah.  She had a very warm smell.  Sure, there was perfume involved and all sorts of delicious hair product and lotions and her new leather bag, but she also smelled like something else.  Something familiar and welcoming.   I guess she smelled like an old friend.  And then I woke up of course and realized that O and I probably wouldn’t be hanging out again any time soon. 

“What’s the matter? You look upset.” Dan said as I lied in bed, recovering from my loss.

“No, it’s nothing. Just thinking about Oprah.”

“Any particular reason?”

“I dreamt we were friends. But now I know we’re not. Now that I’m awake.”

“Did you ask her to talk about your books on her show?”

“No, of course not!  We were shopping friends, not business associates.”

That’s why I don’t tell Dan my dreams.  He tends to try to read into them. 

“So what did you guys do in your dream? I mean besides shopping. Did you go to a movie or something?”

“It was a very short dream. We only had time to shop for sconces. And I bought those,” I said, pointing to the ivory enameled flower light fixtures on our bedroom wall.

“Really?  Did you ask Oprah to buy you a whole bunch of other stuff too?”

“What? No! Of course not.  I would never do that. I bought the sconces myself.  With my own money. How could you think I would ever ask Oprah to buy me something?  God, you make me sound awful.”

“I don’t think you’re awful.  I just think of Oprah as a very generous person and I think of you as a person who needs a lot of things.”

“Yes, but one thing has nothing to do with the other.”

“True, but I’m sure you must have asked her for something.”

“How could you be sure of something like that when it was my personal dream?”

There was a brief moment of silence, and then I broke.

“Okay, fine.  I asked her if I could host the show some time.”