In Dreams

Ah, the joy of dreaming. What happens when a person dreams? Is it opening your mind to an entirely new realm of infinite possibilities? Is it your mind giving you hints on what you need to do to make your life better? Or is it simply a section of the brain called the pons firing off randomly, leaving your cognitive faculties to make sense of the whole mess? Who knows? The only universally accepted theory on dreams is that people who force descriptions of theirs on other people are boring assholes. So, it shouldn't really come as a surprise that I'd eventually talk about mine. Hey, it had to happen sooner or later, so stop your complaining.

I've never been able to describe my dreams. Just about every dream that I can remember is so random and haphazard they defy easy summary. It's like something really crazy and interesting will happen, then BOOM! for some reason I'm working at Rolf's. Then I'll be chased by some big guy. After which I'm searching for a bathroom. There's really no narrative arc to help along in the description. If you weren't "there", then it seems like a big jumble. It makes sense in my head at the time, of course, but it's impossible to glean anything besides really basic moments to share in the waking world. I don't know, it seems like when everybody else talks about their dreams they have a story to describe. I rarely have those. My dreams are a series of non sequitors. Just for the sake of example: Lynn and I got into a bottle fight, which stopped only because I almost skewered her pet rat, Michelle, with a piece of broken glass. At which point Rob had to drag her away, kicking and screaming, because she was threatening to destroy me. I can't remember what happened next, but let me assure you it had nothing to do with the previous scene. Probably climbing Big Rock Candy Mountain. While being chased by vampire puppies. Who shoot lasers from their eyes.

But on a happier note, I don't have nightmares, at least not in the typical sense. Besides one I had a few months ago, anyways. Let me tell you, I saw imagery so hellish and terrifying it would put Bosch to shame. If I had the ability to translate it into an artistic medium I'd probably get the front page of Fangoria. But anyways, the "nightmares" I typically get are so similar to Curb Your Enthusiasm I expect to get sued by Larry David any minute now. The basic recipe? Take one jackass (me), take a series of extremely uncomfortable situations, toss, spin, serve. And make sure it ALWAYS devolves into a screaming match between me and a dream character. Yeesh. An example? Well, a few nights ago I dreamt I was at work. Yeah, I know, I know, you sell your life for minimum wage but they get your dreams for free, yadda yadda yadda. If you don't know you're dreaming you can't hijack the narrative, eh? Anyways, it was three in the morning. The store was closed. Rolf was there, putting away a bunch of stock. Next thing I know, there's people coming in the door because we forgot to lock it. I informed Rolf that I wasn't going to serve these customers, so if he wanted to keep them in the store he would have to help them himself; you know, it being four hours since I punched out and all. He readily agreed, but after a minute an older couple came in and wanted ice cream. Rolf conveniently remembered something he needed to do in the back, so he asked if I would pinch hit for him. Being the wuss that I am, I agreed. And the order? Well, it was for 20 FREAKIN' BOWLS of Cookies n' Cream ice cream, along with a scoop of um... ahem... French Fry ice cream. I tackled the French Fry ice cream first, because I knew it was going to be a pain in the ass. And of course, it was. After managing to mold a decent scoop and getting it to sit in the cone, I looked to the side and saw Rolf sitting in the back and having a cigarette.

Well, I lost it.

I snapped.

I threw the ice cream at the wall, stomped to the counter and launched into a brutal tirade about abusing the good-will of a store by asking them to make twenty bowls of ice cream after they've closed. Now, if you ever scream angrily at someone in the waking world, they will either a) pound the crap out of you, b) run away, or c) try to calm you down. Rarely does option d) scream back come into play. But this being a dream and all, the old couple were more than happy to join in. The ensuing screaming match cleared everybody out of the story rather quickly; I think I even saw Rolf dash out the front door. But I must admit, the memory of being called a fucking asshole by a seventy year old man is something I'll always hold dear to my heart. The fact it only happened in my mind doesn't diminish it in the slightest. Now isn't that just a perfect dream? Though to achieve the full Curb Your Enthusiasm effect I'd need help later on only to find out that the old couple were the only ones who could provide it. Well, that's my subconscious picture show for you. Maybe one day I'll tell you about the time I almost decapitated someone who tried to steal my car.

It seems I might have rage issues.