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2001-08-16 | 9:42 a.m.

Another dream lover this morning. I gotta stop sleeping in. This one was worth a coma.

Somehow or other, we are at the airport. I can't get anyone to tell me where I am. Nobody ever believes you when you don't know where you are. Finally, someone whispers in my ear, "Toronto."

Toronto. Never been there.

We becomes I and I'm in some kind of holding area waiting for a flight that never leaves. Somehow this devolves into a grocery store side trip with Kiki that leads to a ticketed car. In fact, everyone in the vicinity has had their car ticketed, and we are all rounded up by the police and sent to an airport-like lounge where we must wait for a circuit judge to show up and adjudicate. This is where I meet him. We are instantly a pair. Mismatched, perhaps, but we fit each other. The whole group gets to know each other, becomes a community. We are there for days. He and I make our way upstairs. We find a hallway and a fire escape and it is as perfect as any hallway and fire escape could ever hope to be. He holds my hand. He has dark hair, brown eyes. Sex is not the immediate goal, since this is extracurricular romance for both of us. But there is electricity. We are working our way toward something. Mostly it is conversation, the kind you wish would never end. Deeply satisfying conversation. The start of every great love affair.

I ask him how old he is and he says 27. I'm sad to hear it. "How old are you?" he asks. "Old," I say, and he presses me and I think to myself that I should just tell the truth and not prevaricate. So I'm about to tell the truth when we are hustled downstairs. The judge has arrived. We are separated, processed, set on our merry ways. I can't find him, he is gone.

I am in New York, outside his apartment. He runs an organization that rescues dogs. I see him in a group. He is with his fiancee. He sees me, but I walk away, dispirited. I wonder what I am doing here when it is impossible. But I can't stop thinking about him. Then he is sidling up to me. He missed me, too. Doesn't want me to leave. But what about his fiancee? What about my life in California? I don't think I could live in New York. But we are guardedly optimistic. We will go to a cafe and figure out what we are going to do.

Ah, romance. It's a killer. It's funny, you know, in the dream it was like, Such a Problem. And waking up I feel like Oh, what I wouldn't give to have such problems!

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