Get Outta My Dreams, Get Into My... Poster?

I've always been envious of friends who vividly and imaginatively dream. They play parts in their favorite movies, climb up rainbows, talk to animals, travel the world... you know the drill.

I am not one of these people. My dreams are typically re-plays of something that happened that day or the day before. Nothing special. No divine Dreamtime kingdom awaits me during my post all-nighter naps.

Until last night...

Just so you know: I'm obsessed with Paul McCartney. I know it sounds psychotic, but there is literally no other word to describe my obscenely devout level of fangirl. He's been my guy since I was 5, when I wrote him multiple letters with crayons on pink construction paper, asking for his hand in marriage.

5-year-old me finally (sort of) got her wish this summer, and got to spend 3+ magical hours watching Paul McCartney, at age 68 (yes, we're still needing him and feeding him 4 years later!), play an incredible concert.

Now that we have some context...

I had a dream last night that I had a gigantic poster of Paul, in which he looked and was dressed like he was when I saw him in Philly this August.

Then, THE POSTER CAME TO LIFE. Sir James Paul McCartney himself was talking to me from the second dimension, while I lounged in bed.

"That should not be there..." he said.

He was criticizing the feng shui of the remainder of my posters. I imagine I'll be trying to make sense of this until I'm sixty-four.

If only I could remember which poster he motioned to...