We All Need Dreams
My kids have been gone for 12 days now and I have accomplished none of the lofty goals that I had planned for myself and my home. Reminiscent of last year in almost every way. I have slept in the middle of the day, not run the dishwasher everyday and had entire meals of popcorn, Oreo cookies and Corona beer (with a lime to prevent Rickets).
I have had entire conversations with Jack, the gecko, and I have memorized most of the current TV commercials.
And, I have been having dreams with storylines that I could sell to M. Night Shyamalan and never have to work again. So, for you amateur dream psychologists out there, welcome to the depths of my subconscious. There lurks the poor, overworked gremlins that are tasked with sorting through the thoughts of my conscious mind; without much success if you ask me! If their best interpretation includes zombies, magical gauze, alpacas and nonsensical bus routes, I need a do-over.
Often I wake up following a dream that seems so vivid and memorable that I can't imagine ever forgetting it. When it first occurred to me to put these incredulous works of a simple mind to paper, I could think of at least three. Now, I can barely remember the one from last night.
Last night,while I slept, I was attending a medieval fair with three people who I knew well in my dream but I have no idea who they are. There were a variety of booths where costumed men and women were teaching their trades to all of us passing through. At one booth we made popscicles by melting chocolates filled with some colourful substance, at another we converted our 21st century wardrobe into something more fitting with the times of the fair. Then, there was a booth that taught how to convert the bad elements of society into tortured souls sentenced to walk the earth forever reminding the rest of us to stay on the straight and narrow. Clearly a children's fair.
One of my buddies decides to buy this machine and take it home. In his garage, we assemble a machine that looks like something between a guillotine and a wringer washer and put his friend into it. His friend comes through the machine looking vacant and covered in camouflage netting. As he slowly tears off pieces of the netting, his features become broadened and he contorts into something that looks like the Love Child of Arnold Schwarzenegger and the Creature from the Black Lagoon.
Well, as it turns out, this condition is easily spread though hugging. I know, personal space issues, this part I get.
The details of the ensuing chases are a little foggy but it included balcony jumping, racing down stairs, barely making it onto a bus (that went in a circle right back to where I was trying to escape from), a hatchback that wouldn't latch rendering the vehicle useless and, hiding and holding my breath. All to avoid the hug that would surely turn me into an eternally disfigured shadow of myself.
That is just how screwed up my head is.
