(Quick note: I like doing these letters. It’s a quick and easy way to talk about what I’m thinking, and clue you guys in. And they’re entertaining! I’ll just try not to over-do it. Thanks.)
Yes. After my last letter, I really think you’re starting to get the idea. I haven’t had an “OH CRAP THAT MATH PAPER WAS DUE TODAY!” dream in weeks, and last night was… a little vanilla, but heading in the right direction. Let me tell you about it, so you know I was paying attention, and I’ll drop some notes on you so we can make it better next time.
First, I think I was a ghost or something. Something weird. I’m not sure, but I know you don’t care, cause we both know that the best is yet to come, right buddy?
Out of nowhere, I’m no longer incorporeal and made of ectoplasm: I’m in some kind of coastal nation. Like, not fakey American “This is totally what Guatemala’s like, LOL”, but real, honest-to-goodness Nation-that-isn’t-America-and-on-the-edge-of-some-Ocean-Somewhere Coastal Nation. And there’s a Bazaar going on.
Bazaar. You know, like a market, but with more of an Aladdin/Raiders of the Lost Ark kinda feel.
Then, there’s a bar. Hmm. Okay. I doubt they have Guinness here in NotAmerica, but I’ll go with it. The best part of this place is the architecture: it’s made with logs, multiple stories, and it’s all open so you can look out over the ocean. Oh, yeah, and the view? Stellar.
Way to go, guy. If we’re gonna dream, why dream of the inside of a classroom or the office, when we can be in an awesome bar with great music (the music was fantastic as well, BTW) in some foreign country on the coast? Top marks so far.
Then, she walked in.
Whooo-boy, Subconscious. You almost blew it right there: nobody like that has ever walked into any bar I’ve ever been in. What was she? Brazilian? Where did you get that from? Seriously, dude, that was out of left field, but not in a bad way.
Then there was dancing, and that’s where you DID blow it.
So here’s me, dancing with a beautiful woman in an exotic locale: right-cross-right, left-cross-left, step back, step forward, spin, repeat. We did that for a bit, and I’m distracted from my lovely dancing partner because… something is wrong. With the dance, I mean. This isn’t like the waltz or tango or something: this is a one person dance, like a line dance or something, and yet it’s working like a two-person dance. What is this? What’s going…
I’m up. Balls. I walk, muzzy-headed to the bathroom, dance steps still in my mind. There, in front of the mirror, I’m thinking it over, and decide to try them out: right-cross-right, left-cross-left, step back, step forward, spin, repeat… oh. Oh, no.
The Electric Slide? Seriously? You’ve got me doing the Electric Slide with this hot, maybe-Brazilian?
Anyway. It was a good effort. Up until the end there, it was fantastic, and I can tell you’re really working on this. And, even though it WAS the Electric Slide, I’ll tell you this, bud: it looked good on her.