Last night, I met Bob Dylan.  Well not really, but I dreamt I did.  I was out on the prairie somewhere, and up came this limo out of nowhere.  Somehow I knew it was him, and when he cracked the window, I didn’t hesitate to ask politely for an autograph.  Well, apparently Bob and the few that were with him didn’t have much to do, and seeing as how I was the only person out here in the middle of nowhere, he decided that I should tag along with them.  Though as it happens so often in my dreams, when I got into the vehicle, it was really like a house inside.  I always find that the outside appearance of things never matches up to the interior dimensions.

Well Bob and I just hung out and he told me some good jokes.  Do you know, I did ask him one question.  Of all the questions I could have asked him, you’ll never guess what it was, so I’ll just tell you.  I asked Bob Dylan if he ever went ice skating.  He replied that he had, but he didn’t really do that anymore.  However, he had not long ago bought an old pair of ice skates.  They were the thick, heavy kind that you would strap onto the bottom of your boots.  And they were painted red–he showed them to me.  I don’t think he was planning on ice skating, just happened to have them.  May I point out at this juncture in the story, that I have only been ice skating twice and have no real interest in it.  But I digress…

We chilled a bit and listened to music, and it was a great time, the couple of hours, and I decided it was time for me to be going.  As I was walking out the door though, I thought, ‘Wait! J. might like to meet him!" * So I told Bob about him, how he was kinda crazy about him, and had a tattoo of his eye logo, but not lunatic crazy, seeing as how he had put his own initials in the logo instead of Bob’s name.  And after I had somewhat convinced Bob that J. was not going to stalk him or anything after this, and that it would probably be the highlight of his life, I called J.  He was there in a flash, as often happens in dreams.  So we all hung out together and J. was grateful that I had called him.  Also during this time, Bob’s cell phone rang, and he showed me on the screen who was calling him — Robbie Robertson.  He wanted me to answer it for him, just to throw off Robbie.  J.’s eyes were so wide as I answered that call.  Turned out though, it was just someone calling from his number, and not really him.  But we had a good laugh about it anyways.  We left a short time later and Bob promised to stop by whenever he was in town and had the time.

Sometimes I wonder, if when you dream so vividly about someone, if they’re dreaming of you too.  Although in Bob Dylan’s case, he would have no clue who I was.  Oh well.  I could be dream buddies with him.

*Come to think of it, what my conscious self would have done in this situation would be to ask Bob to go ahead and sign an autograph for him, but write something like, "Sorry, she just couldn’t give you a call and invite you to come meet me.  But don’t think twice, it’s alright-ASS!  Bob Dylan"  Well, maybe not, but I’d think really hard about doing that.

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