Monday, July 19, 2004

budduppa parking light

I don't really feel like writing cover letters at the moment, so I'll tell you about the crazy ass dream I had this morning in between smacking the alarm clock and finally waking up five minutes after I usually get on the subway. Also, thanks to Drone for his little update, as I know he is a very busy bee over at Better Than That Other Guy Who Has a Similar Business Headquarters. Pure Protein goodness is forthcoming.

As Joni Mitchell (or was it Carly Simon? are they really different people?) so astutely pointed out, you don't know what you've got till it's gone. I've learned that this is especially true of regular sex (well, to be honest, I've been learning this one the hard way for the last three years,) the ability to use hands painlessly for things such as grasping a pen and washing one's hair (despite its snooty reputation, rowing is quite a savage, bloody sport,) and sleep, including all the good things that come with it, like white eyeballs and coherent thoughts (I am no stranger to sleep deprivation, the degree of which, apparently, is highly correlated with my parenthesis and comma usage.) An insomniac extraordinaire, I rarely enter into the REM stage, much less remember the dreams I have when I happen to get there. This morning, however, I had quite an excitingly strange dream that I only remembered once E mentioned her dream about copulating with Lance Armstrong in a grocery store parking lot.

Basically, the dream got good and memorable when I received an assignment from an unidentified old man to go to outer space. With the assistance of an unidentified older woman and my little sister, I was to fly to Venus in a little red two-door sedan (not a Corvette, sadly) and secretly plant a computer chip inside of a yellow sportscar that was parked there. If my unconscious experiences are any indication, flying into space in a small gas-powered vehicle is at first terrifying and then fun once you realize you aren't going to die. So we arrived on Venus after bypassing the sun (naturally,) and I put the very important computer chip in the car. It started emitting a pulsing light and we were detained by some celebrity who I think was Star Jones. Turns out, Venus is home to hoards of B-list celebrities who are fed up with earthly craziness. Jared Leto was there too.

According to a handy online dream dictionary, "Celebrity dreams show the strong urge to find a place within a group that is emotionally secure and creatively satisfying." Furthermore, "Seeing Venus in your dream, [sic] symbolizes love, desire, fertility, beauty, and femininity." Yes, Online Dream Dictionary, I do desire emotional security, creative satisfaction, and, um, desire. As does everyone else in the freakin' universe. I blame my haywire brain on the single most disturbing 30 minutes of television I have ever experienced--last night's episode of Six Feet Under.

No comments: