I’m sitting here working on The ASJA Monthly and I’m reading Media Bistro’s Newsfeeds (www.mediabistro.com). I come across George W. Bush’s name, last night’s dream flashes by, and I mouth the words: Oh. My. God.

Last night I dreamed George W. and I were dancing. I was infatuated with him and he was infatuated with me, although when he looked at me, he didn’t quite look in my eyes, but focused somewhere near my eyebrows. I don’t recall Secret Service or Laura Bush or even Brian. We were simply dancing.

Now, the one thing I like about George W., I admit, is that he wears cowboy boots on occasion.

I’ve begun keeping a notebook of dreams (again, after years and years). Perhaps my subconscious has decided to entertain me.