Wednesday Writing Assignment: Hell, Let's Do It on Tuesday Edition
What are your dreams like? Black and white? Color? Indoors? Outdoors? Swimming cats? Is Donald Trump--dressed like David Bowie circa Ziggy Stardust--orchestrating elaborate schemes to destroy you...Or is that just me?
posted by kStyle @ 9:22 PM
3 Comments:
My dreams, like anyone's, vary widely, but they tend to be eerily realistic. During the night last week, I dreamed that I woke up, got ready for work, left my apartment, drove to the office, and began my day. Not long after, my alarm went off and I was momentarily confused: didn't I just go through all this?
I felt entitled to hit the Snooze button a couple of times, as getting up and going to work once each day is certainly more than enough.
Ah, drool dreams! Once I dreamt a slimy slug was making its way down my arm. I woke up covered in drool.
Senior S.: I thought you would like the assignment. I had a ton of weird dreams a couple of weeks ago, incluing one about Donald Trump/David Bowie. It went a little somethin' like this:
I was eating breakfast out with Greg and two other people, and the waiter (who had a French accent) took away my wonderful breakfast of rice, veggies, and eggs--which was really enjoying--and replaced it with cold, soggy french fries. I confronted him and he said he couldn't help it, it was because he was obsessive-complusive, but he would bring me more food. He never did, and the others went on eating, oblivious, and then the check came, and so I confronted the manager, who did nothing. Then my fellow diners got mad at me for making a scene. Then I was kicked out of my role in a play, in which I was singing Glen Miller songs, like Chattanooga Choo Choo. And it turned out that Donald Trump was behind all of it, because he wanted to win the triathalon with his bastard son. Donald Trump had blue hair and looked something like David Bowie.
That same night, I dreamt that Luna learned to swim at the heated indoor pool of a swanky spa and--I kid you not--Greg dreamt that Noah swam across a swamp.
Wow, Ann, I want to visit your glaciers-and-pastel-animals place.
Here's another dream I had recently: I kept running into Bill Clinton around town. I saw him at the store and a restaurant, but I didn't say anything to him. Finally we ended up riding the same elevator, and I said something to the effect of, "Mr. Clinton, I really admire the good work you did in your presidency. My views are actually slightly more progressive than yours, but I respect the way you brought people together with thoughtful compromise and thereby successfully achieved liberal goals." He thanked me politely. The next day we were both waiting for a train. We said hello, and then he said, "So...would you like to go out to dinner?" in his creepy-charming way. I gasped in indignation and gave him a long lecture on the meaning of commitment.
My dreams are always color. They vary in intensity and frequency. It's strange how a seemingly innocuous dream can feel either very nightmarish or very happy. When I have really bad dreams--esp. true of my childhood dreams--they involve tornados. My dad also has nightmares about tornados.
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