Well, you know you're out of stuff to talk about when you start talking about your dreams. So here goes.
Last night--early this morning, probably--I dreamed I was in one of these stupid Saw-type horror movies where you have to do all of this weird crap or else something bad will happen to you or a loved one or a puppy or something. Along with several other people (none of whom, oddly enough, I knew, either in the dream or in real life), I was being held captive in a house by a psychotic guy.
How were we held captive? That's the thing. We knew we were being held captive, and there was some vague threat about leaving. But this guy was nonchalant enough about the whole business that at first I kept thinking, "Why the hell don't we just gang up on him and kill him?"
Alas, none of my colleagues could be talked into it. So then I thought, "Why don't I kill him myself?" I'd like to think it was because at no point during the entire dream did the psychopathic villain harm anybody. But in fact I was probably afraid of ludicrously complex booby traps or something. What a stupid nightmare.
To be fair, he did keep the mummified remains of his mother (golly, how original) stashed under his bed. But these were cool, interesting remains ... a hardened, resinous boglady type mummy, not a nasty drippy dead body. I remember thinking, "That's really cool ... I wonder how he did that."
Still, there's this vague sense of dread. When he takes a nap (yes, the psychopath(et)ic villain naps daily), I broach the subject of murdering him, but by this point, my heart isn't in it. Instead, a bunch of us apparently go out to a SCHOOL BOARD MEETING. At which point, my unconscious's voluntary suspension of disbelief comes to a screeching end. What a stupid, stupid nightmare.
If you only click one of these links, please make it the "puppy" link above! Oh, and "house." You won't be sorry.
7 comments:
"Gaylord comes with a bone of his own"?? Even I'm not touching that with a ten-foot pole. Hope you don't get sued.
I had a nightmare this week in which I bumped into Michael Chabon in some lobby. I made some insightful comment about The Yiddish Policemen's Union that seemed to impress him, and we had a long, friendly conversation. Then as he was about to leave, I called out, "it reminded me of Middlesex!" He spun around and gave me an angry, redfaced lecture about how his novel was nothing like Middlesex! and I was a fool for speaking to him! of things about which I knew nozhing! (He had a French accent in the rant but not in our normal conversation.)
So now the mention of Michael Chabon strikes fear into my heart.
I think I can save you a session with the therapist: that dream is *obviously* about your day-long time-management leadership retreat.
S--The retreat was actually much better than I thought. Still excruciating though.
Alan--Kavalier & Clay is all I've read of his. I liked it, and mean to read YPU, but haven't yet. Worth my time, I assume?
Mike--Heh heh. Now the next Elmers song has a first line.
We just had a 20 minute conversation about our office plan for a zombie attack, so at least you can blame it on your subconscious. We're fully awake and have each had our coffee.
You might be able to Google How-to mummification?
I thought YPU was great, overtly Chandler-esque but in a good way. Plus the Coens are adapting it soon, so now's as good a time as any...
I don't think that Gaylord would "walkity walkity walk" with you if you pulled *his* leash. He might bitety bitety bite you, though.
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