Saruwatari Ayumi (junglemonkee) wrote,
Saruwatari Ayumi
junglemonkee

In the Virtual Bank Line

I had moved into a tiny town in Arizona called St. John. The entire town consisted of a few wood cabins situated around a cul-de-sac off a two-lane highway. Each cabin was huge and housed a business in addition to living quarters, and it seemed that there were always tourists coming through. Next door to the house we bought was the town coffee shop, and it was a true yuppie coffee place with dark wood and gourmet lattes and piano jazz playing on a good stereo system. Sort of like Starbucks, but with more comfortable furniture and without all the branded merchandise all over the place.

So my carpool buddy from work shows up. He's brought his wife because she's an artist and wants to peruse the town while he's at work. Except that St. John is hundreds of miles from where we work, and I feel bad because now our commute is going to go from being merely long to nearly impossible.

Meanwhile, pirateguillermo is trying to tell my carpool buddy that it's not going to be for very much longer, that I'm planning to quit. I don't want him to tell people, because I don't want him to jinx whatever chance I've got, but I hope that it won't be long before I can stop the commute.

That was the end of the dream, but there are some things that made this dream noteworthy:

The first is that there is a St. Johns, Arizona, about 100 miles SE of the Navajo reservation. I've never been there, but I've been close and know that the weather is beautiful and the air holds solitude like nothing you've ever seen.

I also know that St. John is the patron saint of writers, and that since I had the dream, St. John has appeared in other places in my life.

Coincidence? I think not.
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