Hearing people talk about their dreams is possibly the dullest thing in the world. I know this, and that's why you must trust me when I say that I'm sorry, but I think somebody has been lacing my pillowcases with osmotic LSD.
This is not "slightly peculiar". Not "a little weird". Not average-wackness from which you wake just enough to think, "Huh, that was odd", before falling immediately back to sleep -- nope, not what we're dealing with, here. This is a whole other kind of weird, the kind where you jolt awake, sweating, clawing the wall, and then lie in bed for hours trying desperately to remember whether you watched Mulholland Drive or ate pickles mixed with peyote before going to sleep, because if not, what the hell.
I dreamed that I was a substitute teacher in Victorian England, and one of the girls in my class of rag-clad moppets informed me that she spent every afternoon making out with her female classmates in the janitorial closet.
I dreamed that Walter Bishop, from the television show FRINGE, was sending me contagious biological agents in the mail, causing the federal government to arrest me and throw me in a prison where I had to go to the bathroom in front of everyone.
I dreamed that I freaked out an express elevator, and somebody filmed the entire thing and put it on YouTube, causing me to gain nationwide notoriety. I even remember the video itself in great detail: it was set to a vaguely Pink Floyd-ish soundtrack and titled "Elevator Hot Howl".
God, I'm tired.
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8 comments:
Trumps my grim-reaper-meets-the-devil's-advocate pushing me off of a skyscraper dream the other night.
Kudos.
See, when you use words like "osmotic" and talk about Victorian schoolgirls making out in closets, it makes me feel all funny inside. I'm now also craving spicy pickles.
um, I want your dreams.
We LOVE Walter! He could send me bioagents any day.
I don't know man, I've got some dreams that could trounce yours.
Like when Don Cheadle and Moon Men told me I was the last Scion in a line of giant Indian statue gods that all turned into beautiful naked women when they stepped in side a room that we had a conference in.
And then it was the Real World intro with all of us.
And then I was teaching them English while they were half submerged in a pool doing jumping jacks.
I wish I could view them over and put them on YouTube.
Language of the unconscious n shit.
Sheesus. No more spicy sausages before bed, lady.
You have quite the royal road to your unconscious - perhaps even crazy enough to make Dr. Freud carsick :)
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