The Million Dollar Question

Sunday night, while I was laying in bed, wide eyed, pondering the irony of all the motherless children on the planet, and all the childless mothers on the planet, our roof began to leak.

Drip Drip Drip Drip

Into the ice cream bucket right outside my bedroom door.

Drip Drip Drip Drip

We've had the roof fixed three times. But it still leaks.

We've had the skylights removed. But it still leaks.

Drip Drip Drip Drip Drip

I closed the bedroom door, but I could still hear the dripdripdripdripdripdripdripdripdripdrippitydrip.

So I closed my eyes and imagined I had a root beer IV in my arm. I watched it drip, drip, drip into my veins until I turned into a root beer float . . .

. . . and then suddenly the ceilings in my bedroom began to leak too.

Drip Drip Drip Drip Drip . . .

. . . soon every room in the house was leaking and there I was in my PJ's rushing from room to room trying to catch the water in pots and buckets but the leaks just kept getting bigger and bigger and I didn't have enough pots and buckets so I grabbed towels and blankets and quilts and started mopping up the mess but then the ceiling started cracking and I couldn't stop the water from gushing in around me . . .

And then I woke up. And the house was silent. And the dripping had stopped. And I was dry.

I got up, emptied the half-full/half-empty bucket in the hallway, wiped up the mess on the floor, and went back to bed.

Ain't that just like life!?

Which begs the million dollar question: do dreams imitate life, or does life imitate dreams?