Dream On

I have been having a veritable bonanza of crazy dreams lately, featuring such celebrity guest stars as Roy Scheider (scary dream that featured elements of The Abyss), Ronald McDonald (terrifying dream, which co-starred Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, and in which Ronald McDonald HAD NO EYES), and Lance Bass (In that dream, The Boy was jealous and pissy because he thought Lance was being too flirty with me, and I had to say, “Um, you should worry about how much attention Lance Bass pays to DAD, not me!”).

I dreamed recently of my Uncle Tom’s ex-wife’s brother’s son, who I’ve probably met twice in my life—both times before my uncle’s divorce circa 1981. I dreamed about the scary, chainsaw-wielding guy from the commercial that tells parents about the ability to block television programs so their kids can’t watch them. I dreamed that Mimi Smartypants was pregnant (and sent her an e-mail to tell her so, just in case).

I dreamed about being on a softball team and having to join the team in lugging an enormously heavy king-sized bed frame to the field, and that the coach parked blocks away despite the fact that there was a parking space RIGHT WHERE WE NEEDED TO PUT THE BED.

I don’t even know what to say for myself. I believe I have moaned/yelled loudly enough that I have scared The Boy, whose room is a good ten yards away from mine, twice.

My subconscious is clearly trying to tell me something lately, but I have no idea what.