One story, before I figure out what to do with this site.

I had these crazy dreams last night. Or nightmare's, I should say, and I just couldn't shake them. I would wake up in a panic - you know - when you are short of breath like when you dream that've fallen off a cliff or a swing and you wake up and you are terrified? Fully sitting up, and your eyes burst wide open. Anyway, that happened twice, and twice I feel back asleep and my freakin' dream picked up exactly where it left off.

Jesus. And it was terrifying.

I was working as the head campaign strategist for the Gore campaign.

It started, as I was forced to take the job as a pro bono thing. Someone had referred me and Clinton strong-armed me into taking the project. I told him I wasn't interested, I told Gore I wasn't interested. But then, Gore challenged me, and said after I turned down the position that he didn't feel I had a strong enough grasp of crisis management to handle his precarious campaign.

And of course, like the hot-head I am - I took the bait. God forbid I let someone win a fight. I listed my creditials and when I was done I told Al Gore he didn't even know what a crisis was.

Then I found myself spouting off bits of advice - pointing out the holes in his platform and the questions that they were going to lead to in the media.

It's here that I first woke up. I could hardly breathe. But when I caught my breath, I laid back down and smiled to myself, thinking "THANK GOD I'm not dealing with that."

And the dream started again. I find myself expounding on holes in the platform, pointing out issues that he should "own" over Bush and creating responses to those issues that would offer solutions rather than point the finger. I looked around and a team of 20-or-so slick young men in boring navy suits were rapidly taking notes on yellow legal pads, and shooting rapid fire questions that I answered without taking a breath. I saw myself, walking up and down a large rented room, very Town Hall-ish, pulling phones out of volunteers hands when I didn't think they were persuasively handling a delegate, and taking the call myself, while mouthing to the volunteers to listen - to take notes to understand each delegate's personality.

I wake up again and I gasp for air. Breathing, breathing. I lay my head back on my pillow and stare at the ceiling. It's 4:30AM and I think, thank god that's not me. It's not me.

I drift back to sleep. My mind takes me back to that room. We are in a meeting. I am telling Al Gore that while the wardrobe update is great and the tan suits will help my generation relate to him - it's just not enough. I grab him by the shoulders and I am shaking him and I am screaming "Show me emotion! I know you must have passion in there if you are running for President - you are passionate enough to want to put your life and your family on hold! Show me that! Show me excitement, show me anger, show me that you are pissed off about what your oppenent is saying about you!"

As I am shaking Al, Dick Morris walks in and says he has some ideas for the campaign. Literally, that's all he gets out before I swing around like a madwoman and I look at him with my meanest old Western stare and I say, "GET. THE. FUCVK. OUT. NOW."

And he whipped around and tore out of the room.

And I started laughing at the whole preposterous situation.

I woke up with a smile, and immediatley feel back to sleep.

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