Holler! Oh ya'll, mama is tired. On my way back from NC, I stopped in the RIC for the night - and I'm not sure what I ate, but I had the weirdest dream.
I dreamt that a gentleman in a gray fitted suit with a black tie was on the roof of my office building. For some reason, I was also on the roof. He was pacing back and forth, very agitated. He glanced back at me, winked, and then jumped off. I ran over to the side to look down, but it was no longer my building - it was the Arc de Triomphe in Paris. I started screaming for someone to help him, but he had disappeared. I turned around and started running down the circular stairs, but when I got to the bottom, it opened into a chic Parisian cafe with red velvet lined walls. I told the maitre d' that I was looking for my brother, but he sat me with George Clooney, who's hair was more salt than pepper. That's all I remember.
Normally, I don't remember my dreams or I'll only remember bits of it so it never makes sense, like this one. But there is suicide, there is Paris, and there is George Clooney as my brother. The great hambino looks nothing like GC. NOTHING. And let me say that I've met George Clooney before, ridden in an elevator with him, and while he is attractive in movies and in pictures, he is nothing to dream about - but that's just me.
So for all those psych majors, please tell me what the hell it means.