It makes me stabby to think about last night (read: 3! high pressure Kirby salesmen in my house for more than TWO HOURS who WOULD NOT LEAVE NOT MATTER HOW MANY TIMES I TOLD THEM TO WRAP IT UP, basement that contains majority of our belongings in yet to be unpacked boxes flooded by torrential storm and record-breaking rainfall, and six hours without electricity = absolutely nothing was accomplished in my unpacking endeavors). So instead of recapping what would surely make for a giant ball of fury wrapped up neatly inside a tasty blog post--I want to tell you something. I can fly.
A few weeks ago I had my first dream where I could fly since childhood. My flying dreams from childhood are quite vivid and stick with me to this day. I'm not sure why I haven't flown in so long--but recently--it's back. I flew again in my dream last night. A lot. These are by far my most favorite dreams ever.
Last night, I took Andrew in my arms and we flew together. That sure beats the hell out of slopping up several inches of water from the floors of our (formerly) finished basement together.