dreams of otherness, two nights in a goddamn row

when the alarm plinked this morning i was dreaming that i was an artist in a high-class hotel/bordello, in some europalmy south american city like maybe buenos aires. i was entertaining josh holloway, who plays Sawyer on Lost.
that man is brutally hot. i don't even like that type.
bah! now why don't i have these dreams in the still, small hours of the night. why at 7:30am!?

the night before it was a dream about a house in the country where captain mal lived with his wife and two girls and i was staying, writing a book about the town school. the best part came when i was walking across a street, towards an old white car, maybe a studebaker or something like that, with a convertible top, getting ready to drive to the school, and the wind huffed up and furled and ruffled the leaves just crisping up in the cool autumn morning. the yards were green, and the shadows were blue, and i could sense the fields and trees all hiding behind the houses.

sometimes my dreams have a sense of realness that's so strong, and that last one did. when i wake up, i'm surprised i'm still just me.