Well, it finally happened.

When I was a little girl, I used to dream of having really, really, super long hair. Hair that touched my ass, it was so long. In my dreams, I was often standing in front of a full length mirror, turning from side to side, admiring my really, really, super long hair. And I would be excited and a bit amazed in my dream, that my hair had magically grown so long and so beautiful. So long it could touch my ass and I could sit on it if I wanted to.

When I would wake up from those dreams, I would have a moment or two of still feeling excited and amazed. I would be so happy because I finally had really, really, super long hair.

And then, of course, I would realize that it had all just been a dream. I didn’t have really, really, super long hair. I had my regular, not that long at all hair, and I would feel that feeling of disappointment and even a bit of sadness because….

It had all just been a dream.

I still have dreams like that…I’m sure that we all do…although I don’t dream about hair anymore.

My grown up disappointing dreams usually centre around shopping at super cool thrift stores that don’t really exist, trying to grab everything I can manage before the store closes, but never actually making a purchase. Or, walking down a cool downtown street that is lined with awesome thrift stores, deciding to take a look at each of them before choosing which one to enter, only to turn around and find that they have all dissipated and no longer exist and then running down the street, trying to find my way back to the cool downtown street lined with awesome thrift stores.

Yeah, I know, I’m a loser.

I wake up after those dreams, with a bit of a shopper’s high, depending on whether or not I actually got to go inside one of the super cool thrift stores. And it takes me a minute before I realize that not only does the cool downtown street not actually exist, but neither do the awesome thrift stores. And I feel disappointed because….

It was all just a dream.

My other grown up disappointing dreams usually have something to do with Michael Jackson (SHUT UP…I DON’T WANT TO HEAR IT, OKAY? I LOVE HIM…GET OVER IT. DON’T POST ANYTHING NASTY IN THE COMMENTS BLOCK, OKAY? I JUST LOVE HIM AND I CAN’T HELP IT). I have very vivid dreams with Michael Jackson in them…one that I’m just dying to relay to you that happened probably almost a year ago, but is still so vivid, it really feels as though it actually happened. But I’ll spare you. Suffice it to say that in those dreams, I have not only met Michael, but we are friends…he likes me and I love him and I am so fucking happy and excited in those dreams, it’s unreal.

And then, of course, I wake up thinking, “Oh my God, I’ve actually met Michael! I can’t wait to tell everyone! I know Michael Jackson!” until reality sets in and I realize that….

It was all just a dream.

And I’m disappointed and sad and discouraged by my Michael Jackson-free life.

This morning I woke up, snuggled and cozy and sleepy under the leopard print comforter, my face pressed against the soft, t-shirt style blue striped pillow case, my legs wrapped up in the sheets. There was an extra comforter strewn across half of the bed…Rock was cold last night and decided to blanket us even further. I rolled over and felt myself smile against the pillow, deciding not to look at the clock, deciding to keep dozing a bit, my heart absolutely full of happiness and excitement.

This morning I woke up with the same feeling that I have after I dream of Michael Jackson.

I laid there and let my mind linger on the idea of my birthday on Friday. I laid there and let my mind wander to Easter. I laid there and felt so fucking full of wonderful happiness and wonderful joy and * wonderful * calm, the same way that I lay in my bed after I’ve met Michael in a dream and he’s put his arm around me and he’s hugged me and I’ve walked alongside him and been in his presence.

This time I wasn’t full of Michael. I was full of my American Boy. I was happy and joyful and excited and calm because I was going to see my American Boy * soon *. My American Boy was coming to me…the only thing that I really wanted for Birthday….my American Boy’s arms around me and his lips on mine and his smell filling my nose… my American Boy right next to me, the way that it’s supposed to be just as I really believe that I am supposed to know Michael Jackson.

Only this time, things were different.

It finally happened.

I finally woke up from one of those amazing dreams full of happiness and excitement and I finally didn’t have that realization that it is all a dream.

I didn’t have to let disappointment fill me this time.

It’s not a dream. My American Boy * is * coming to me.

And you know what?

I’m still so excited….

And I’m still so happy….

And I’m still so joyful….

I could burst