Dreaming of Robert Mueller III, Bobby Three Sticks...

Dreaming of Robert Mueller III, Bobby Three Sticks...

It is was a long, tossing & turning kind of sleep. I fell into a deep zone of unconsciousness, but when I hit bottom, it was all murkiness and a series of dark, tantalizing images.

I was called into a big meeting at HQ. A dark, forbidding monolith of a structure. Winding hallways. Endless line of conference rooms. A faceless kind of dead zone of a building. Very Kafka-esque.

Robert Mueller, the head of the Russian Investigation was there. He was shepherding me through the maze. I was part of a contingent of important-looking people. Stoic, silent, men and women, stone-faced, serious. Everyone in business suits.

I, of course, was not wearing a shirt. I was bare-chested. No one seemed to notice or care, but I was a bit uncomfortable. I realized I was not like the others. A fish out of water.

There were two dead bodies laying on a conference table. They looked so small and sad. Middle-aged, bearded, but they looked like children pretending to be older when they died.  Innocent victims. Like little lambs who have lost their way. Victims of this grand conspiracy that Mueller and his team were working on.

Someone killed these people. Someone committed grave crimes.

I started to cry. Robert Mueller grabbed me by the hand. He held my hand. He looked me in the eye and smiled. No words. I looked up a the ceiling of the conference room and the ceiling just completely disintegrated before my eyes. A big, fat, glowing sun bathed the room with light. A healing, wonderful, powerful, blinding, light.

I woke with a start. My hand was dead, paralyzed, I guess I had been laying on it awkwardly, my hand had fallen asleep. I shook it to get the blood flowing once again. It was early morning, but I thought "I'll get up and make the coffee..."

And so, that is what I did...