Dreams. I read somewhere that listening to a person recount their dreams is at the top of most people's dreaded activity list, right above root canals and pap smears. While I understand this sentiment, I also think that my dreams may be a tad more entertaining (and bizarre) than the average Joe's, so if you ever find yourself stuck on the receiving end of my nightime tales, Jason, at the very least I promise you a thought-provoking glimpse into my twisted psyche. Now, I'm not one of those new age, crystal-toting woo-woo dirt worshipers who journals as soon as my eyelids flutter open in hopes of uncovering a hidden truth about my subconscious, but I do think dreams reflect something going on in the sleeper's life, even if it isn't obvious at first evaluation. Last night, for example, I dreamt about my three year-old niece having a major meltdown at some social function, followed by time spent at a friend's wedding where a murder had occured but he was more concerned with my attending some wild stag festivities, then the whole sequence wrapped up at school where I overheard a coworker bad mouthing me for being late to a meeting that no one had told me about, so I called her a bitch (sorry, Brita!) in front of the school board. Let's dissect that, shall we? The section about my niece is pretty straightforward - last time I saw her she threw a tantrum that registered on the Richter Scale because her obnoxious party horn was confiscated. As for the nuptuals, murder seems to be a popular theme during my REM cycles, and Dave (the groom) treats me like one of the guys, hence his demand that I consort with the tuxedoed guests. As for the last bit I admit I'm a bit flummoxed. I love the sniping colleague and can't imagine her talking smack about me in real life and, more importantly, I am
never late for meetings. Oh well. I'm still trying to figure out why I was hiding from wolves on a snow-covered mountain with only Raggedy Ann and Andy to keep me company in a dream from my childhood. Any suggestions, Jason? Once we're friends, please indulge me occassionally by feigning interest while I regale you with sleepcentric ramblings. Sure, my dreams aren't worthy of the Inception treatment (and as far as I know Leo DiCaprio has never visited me in my sleep), but at least they'll provide you with a chuckle or two and perhaps even writing material. Besides, you can always take comfort in the fact that I sound like a lunatic compared to you. That's gotta' be worth something.
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