Doesn’t Everybody Dream About Bono?

Guess which person is having a dream about Bono?

If you’ve ever had a dream about Bono, you’ll like this story. They (that ubiquitous they) say that regardless of what Freud says, the only person who can truly interpret your dreams is you. Like most people, I have doozies. Last night I went to Dublin and ended up at Bono’s apartment by mistake. I walked in and wandered around, admiring the scattering of diamonds and emeralds about the apartment. Because that’s exactly how Bono would decorate, right? Peeking into the living room, I spied Bono and The Edge, sitting on the sofa, thumbing through a travel magazine. They were quite startled to see a stranger, me, standing there, gawking.

I felt I needed to come up with a plausible story as to why I was standing in Bono’s living room uninvited. I did not yet realize this was a dream about Bono. So, I said, “I’ve come to talk to you about buying a home in East Sacramento.” Because Bono loves to talk about real estate, right? Astonishing enough, Bono said real estate was one of his favorite subjects and suggested I sit down.

I immediately felt an urge to hand him one of my business cards. So I grabbed my bag, which I just happened to find sitting on the floor and started digging though it.

I found a ton of other agent’s business cards but none of my own. Oh, I also found a fire extinguisher. I pulled it out and set on the floor, hoping Bono wouldn’t notice. I unzipped another pocket and discovered two more fire extinguishers. I started to laugh hysterically, because it was strange enough to be carrying around one fire extinguisher, but three of them?

I kept digging for my business card. Then, the thought struck me: what if all I find is a really old business card with a photo taken years ago when my hair was long and dark? Would I give that card to him? Or would only a newer business card suffice? I don’t know why I didn’t realize I was having a dream about Bono. I took a semester course in cognitive lucid dreaming in college and can usually tell when that’s happening.

I continued to grope through my bag without any luck. Didn’t find any old business cards much less new cards. In desperation, I finally said, “Oh, you don’t need a business card. You can easily find me on a Google.” I am everywhere on Google. A search for Elizabeth Weintraub returns almost 500,000 pages. And yet I have no stinkin’ Wiki page.

Next thing I realized, somebody was licking my forehead, and I woke up to a cat slurping my face.

I related this dream to a Sacramento Realtor in my office who admitted that she regularly dreams about Bono, but she really prefers to dream about Sting. She thought this dream was a warning that something is about to burn down. Buuuuut, I suspect it’s because I spend much of my days putting out fires in my escrows.