I dream of Pammy w/ the bright black hair

I rarely remember my dreams but here's one I had last night. Food I ate before bed was a delicious salad with homemade dressing of

olive oil
balsamic vinegar
squeezed fresh lemon

and 5 bowls of organic yellow popcorn bought in bulk from Nature's Harvest.

I'll make it short, since the dream is rapidly receding, like my beloved son's hairline.

Since there were different scenes in the dream, like in a play or a novel, during each scene I'd think to myself, Wake up Ruthie and get me outa here. Never did I wake, however.

I'm in this huge labyrinthine building, possibly Abington Hospital, setting out to meet a woman I've never met before. She had given me her name and contact information and told me the meeting point.

I have forgotten to bring the contact info with me. The hospital is huge. How will I ever find her?

It's very dark inside. No light. Much of the hospital is under construction.

Somehow I meet up with my friend Pam London Barrett, known in our circles as The Singing Psychiatrist. When last she came to my house to pick me up to see a movie, I took her photo so it's sitting around since I never know what to do w/my pix.

Suddenly I realize I've lost my backpack, which I carry in lieu of a pocketbook. I retrace my footsteps down a dark corridor, thinking to myself as I go, this is how women get raped. Ah, what this gal won't do for a little sex. Anyway, heaped on a table are backpacks of all styles and colors.

Mine, however, is not among them. Darn!

I walk quickly back down the dark corridor and as I'm nearing the hallway, a door with bars slams shut, shutting me inside.

Let me out! I call and the door opens.

Whew! If it hadn't opened the author of this blog might be lying dead in Scott's bed.

Oh, I have so much more work to do before I leave this earth.