So, I was thinking about how quickly Interpol adjusted to my style while the FBI is just so resistant to anything they cannot prove beyond reasonable doubt. CIA trusts me, nearly implicitly, and I am even bringing another, very cautious Agency around...slowly.
But, the things that really get to me right now are not the cases. I keep that non-sense at arm-length -- so I can avoid an emotional crash and burn over the injustice and insanity of it all. The things that really get at me are the dreams that teach me the personal lessons I have needed for so long.
Take last night for an example.
Here is the dream.
Shaz and I had been in the hotel for a while, the joy of being together without interruption reminding of the days of joy -- mint julep masques, chess by the fire, reading in bed. He was showing off his new clothes, deep Merlot shirt and trousers. The room in cream and wood tones, so homey, so us. And then, a conga line of co-eds dancing through the halls of the hotel, through the lobby, on the terraces.
Then, I was leaning over the railing. Shaz was sitting at a table for four, the drug dealer on his right and his best friend on his left. His best friend spoke to me...warning me to let it go. The drug dealer, cap on sideways, stared off into space willing to be ignored (no such luck a-hole).
And as I awoke, I asked Shaz to show me his eyes.
He did.
Snake eyes, glossy, and shining at me.
I looked up the archetype.
No such listing.
~AC
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