My husband and I are on a date in Dublin. We take the bus down to the "alphabet city" version of Dublin, looking for a specific restaurant. It's dusk and the sun squeezes through purple storm clouds. I notice a wetness on the cobblestones as though it's been raining. At some point we get lost and lose one and other. My bike appears. It's a folding Dutch bike and I carry it instead of ride it. It's light in my hand. I begin to run, looking for my husband, but not fearful that I won't find him. It's a playful run and I'm enjoying being lost in this city. I walk into a bike shop and am surprised something so new exists in a building so old. A man in the bike shop tells me to call my therapist, so I do without hesitation. She tells me to come meet her and her husband at the other side of town. I walk me and my bike several blocks away, thinking that my husband will find me, knowing that he'll know where I am. I walk up the stairs to my therapist's house. When she opens her door I see that she's Donna Reed. I'm slightly star struck. Her house is filled with porcelain knick knacks. I shake her much older husband's hand by the warmth of their fireplace.
The alarm wakes me up and I'm disappointed to have been taken from this dream.
