What is up with this? For the past three nights I’ve dreamed of dead people. It’s not like I’m trying to dream of dead people. I don’t climb into bed thinking, gee, I’d sure like to dream of dead people. But it doesn’t seem to matter. My subconscious has plans of its own.
Dream number one – I am married to a distorted version of Jeff Goldblum, an actor I would be quite attracted to under normal circumstances (because I think he’s super sexy in that Anthony Bourdain bad-boy way and Jeff delivers the best one-liners in Hollywood with great aplomb) but I’m not attracted to him when he looks like he’s stepped straight out of some satanic fun house mirror. Anyway, Jeff’s evil twin and I were invited to a party. Each couple invited had to bring an original work of art. Each work of art had to be created from a dead body. So we, fun house mirror Jeff and I, had to go dig someone up and like… shellac them – mix and match parts in an artistic fashion. To say the process was gross is an understatement– all these pieces of dead bodies in various states of decay on display. Delightful…
I didn’t like this dream at all and I certainly did not appreciate being married to fun house mirror Jeff Goldblum. I remember hiding in the bathroom of the house where the party was being held, wondering how the hell I was going to escape via a tiny window and climb down from the second story.
Dream number two – Driving in a car with my mother, a dead body in the back seat. Didn’t recognize the body. Don’t know where we were going. I tried to keep my eyes on the road, but still I had to glance into the backseat every now and then to see if that dead body was still there. Didn’t want any reanimation happening while driving. RWD. Reanimation While Driving.
Enough with the dead bodies already.
I’d rather dream about oh, pretty much anything else.