About two weeks ago, I had a dream that me and a friend of mine, Bill Rich, landed at San Diego's Lindbergh Field early in the morning. When I went through the double doors, there was a sign that read "75 South, Coronado." We get outside the terminal, then we walk around the building to an unknown destination.
The next thing I know, it's later in the evening and I somehow magically appear at Phoenix's Sky Harbor Airport. After that, I realize that I am running late for my editing shift here at CNN. I try to get a direct flight to Atlanta, and then the suddenly turns into night time. I can't get a flight out to Atlanta that same day. So I would have to wait until the following day to go back home.
What a scary dream that was. It started out nice since I was in San Diego at the start of my dream.
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