I Dreamed a Dream...(and no, it's not about Susan Boyle)

Inspired by my blog-crush, Meditations in an Emergency, after the comments to this blog post were about nightmares, I feel like sharing more of my dreams...

A few years ago I dreamed that I cut off my right hand and then cooked it like a pot roast. Yep, you read that correctly. Disturbing, n’est pas? Even though it was a years ago, I still remember vividly the sawing off of my right hand (I’m left-handed), and while there was no pain or blood, I remember having to really saw away at it, totally just hacking it off. The dream got more strange when I decided to cook the hand. The memory of that was taking the pan out of the oven and the hand-pot roast was slightly bloated from the water/broth, and there were onions and carrots and whatever also floating around the hand. It was palm up and like a beige color. And for the record, no, I didn’t dream I ate it (now that would be really weird!), nor did I serve it to Husband or anyone else. The dream pretty much ended there. Thank goodness.

Not too long ago, I had a dream about a long-lost friend, Tim. Tim and I recently reconnected thanks to good ‘ole Facebook. Tim lives in Los Angeles and is openly gay (which I’m only stating because it’s possibly relevant to the story). In the dream, I had gone to visit Tim in LA (although I’ve never actually been there) and at one point in the dream, we’ve gone shopping. Except the shops we are visiting are similar to thrift shops or second-hand stores (or “vintage” and “antique” stores). It was a bright sunny day, and these stores were having sidewalk sales. The weird part was that everything for sale was completely disgusting, decayed or just pure shit. Like one store had baby carriages and bird cages that were broken and whatever, and another store had canned goods for sale, but the cans were severely rusted, dented and just plain nasty. I remember remarking to Tim that even homeless people wouldn’t eat those canned goods. Another point in the story, Tim and I are at a pawn-shop like place, and we’re looking at the jewelry collection. Tim and I have the same initials, so we were looking for jewelry charms or whatever with our initials. I remember seeing lots of religious paraphernalia such as bibles, crosses, etc. and everything was super-old. I specifically remember opening one of the bibles, and it was a family bible from 100 years ago or something. Despite all of the decay and age of everything in the dream, my feelings in the dream were happiness and elation, because I was enjoying spending time with Tim. At one point I kissed him, but not like a make-out sort of kiss, but it was on the cheek and I gave it to him because I missed him so much and was just excited to see him again.

A couple of weeks ago, I dreamed about my friend, Shannon. The dream happened before my karaoke birthday celebration, and that was the topic of the dream. The dream was relatively quick and I was waiting for Shannon to come pick me up so we could begin the drunken shenanigans. After she was at least an hour late, I call her on her cell. She picks up and at this point, I am LIVID. I damn near scream “WHERE IN THE FUCK ARE YOU?” to which she replies that she is “getting her hair did”. I am so pissed and the veins in my neck are practically blowing out because I can’t believe she is blowing off MY BIRTHDAY to go to the hairdresser. She never once gets pissy with me, but puts on this sing-song voice, dripping with sincere sweetness and proceeds to tell me her hairdresser, Sante (don’t ask me where the name came from -- and also this is not Shannon's current hairdresser) wants to talk to me. Again, I am very close to having a massive coronary and I’m all screaming that I don’t want to talk to Sante, he needs to mind his own fucking business. Sante is a sassy, gay black man and he proceeds to get all gay-bitchy at me with a little gay-ghetto thrown in. Eventually, I’m so angry I slam the phone down (or whatever the equivalent of slamming the phone down is in a cell phone world) and the dream ends. I remember waking up and being so angry at Shannon that I could have spit nails.


Well, there you go. A little peek inside my unconscious. Now you know I’m not just crazy in my conscious world, I’m also crazy in my unconscious! I don't think I'd have it any other way, either. A little Crazy goes a long way in making life interesting...or at least I think so. ;)