Last night I dreamt I was a polar bear. I rolled in the snow like a puppy with fluffy white fur and the other polar bears thought I was crazy. Even in my dreams – and as a polar bear – I am an outcast. Whatever. It was fun and it didn’t feel cold. Or rather, it did, but I liked the feeling. I figured this was just another way of letting me know I’m ready for the winter, ready for Christmas, and ready to be finished with Hangzhou and the rain. I want snow.
Dreams are such strange things. One minute you’re yourself, walking down a mountain with your family, overlooking a beautiful valley in Australia while a murdering thug tries to chase you down and turn you into a manikin (normal dream, right); the next minute, you’re a polar bear, like something out of Golden Compass, and bounding through the Arctic.
Then I woke up with “I’m the King of New York” stuck in my head from Newsies. An odd day, so far.
Starbucks has gone Christmas crazy and I’m ok with that. Usually I refuse to start getting geeked up for the holidays until after Turkey Day, but since it is such a comforting feeling while I’m so far away from home, I’m all over that business. Toffee nut lattes galore. They have Christmas music playing on a loop and each time I hear the Bing Crosby/David Bowie version of “The Little Drummer Boy” I get goosebumps and start to cry. I’m not sure what it is about that piece, but it gets me every year.
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