I consider myself to be average. Definitely nothing as exotic as a spornosexual male. Just your pretty average middle-age kind of guy. Some might say I’m pretty AND average. But they would be wrong. I’m taller than a Hobbit, shorter than Groot. I have grey-blue eyes, short hair and a wannabe body. ‘Cause I wanna look like George Clooney. Oh yes and let’s not forget, I have the weirdest dreams.
Some of my dreams are truly extraordinary in that they don’t make any sense whatsoever. When I was younger I had cool dreams. Like the one where I was Indiana Jones or the one where I could fly. And let us not forget my evening with Jennifer Aniston. Wow. Now that I’m slightly older, it seems my dreams have given up on me. They are much less adventurous and much more confusing. I reckon my subconscious mind is pumping out random, weird shit in the hope that it might make me more interesting.
Like this one. And let’s face is, I wish I was making this up. But it would be unfair to take credit for what I seem to conjure in my sleep.
My sister and I was getting ready for some fancy event in New York. I had a shower, without my sister, for it wasn’t that kind of dream. Nor was it an episode of Game of Thrones. I sat in front of a very large mirror, exactly like the one I’ve never had. The kind you see in dressing rooms with big white light bulbs on the frame. I was trying to make my hair look less like a potential explosion by using some hair-gel to defuse said bomb. After working the product through my hair I looked up and there I was with long, flowing hair. I looked like a drag-queen Barbie. I freaked like a caged animal and my sister laughed like any good sibling would.
I took another shower. Back in front of the mirror I didn’t touch the gel. At least my hair was short again. Now I had a bigger problem. Lice. And not the normal run of the mill homeless person kind of lice. The critters on my scalp were big. Some real nasty motherf… No, my mother wasn’t in the room but I did call out to her. Then I did what any normal person would, I took another shower. It’s obvious that my subconscious mind prefer my dreams to be of the wet variety. I now go by the name of Captain Clean. Not sure what shampoo I was using, but the lice were gone.
I never got to the “event” so I’m assuming my sister left without me. Typical.
Then I found myself stuck on a bed with Dude. And it’s still not that kind of dream. Nor is it a Game of Thrones episode. Besides I’m too scared of the Sparrows to do anything stupid. ‘Dude’ is my son and in the dream he was a toddler again. The poor boy was cold, probably due to the fact that the bed we were on was surrounded by open windows. Unfortunately I couldn’t get off the bed as it was too high from the ground, so the only thing left for me to do was to take a shower…Nah I’m kidding, I just held him. I woke up before we got the chance to experience the full blow of a winter in Winterfell. Then I left for my dream job.
Evidently the height of the bed wasn’t a problem anymore. Go figure.
My dream job was being a DJ on a famous radio station. This dream job shouldn’t be confused with my real dream job. My real dream job would be to do nothing and then get bucket loads of money as compensation for doing it. I will be damn good in that position, slouching my way up the corporate ladder. The only other thing I’ll need would be a good cabernet on tap. At my dream-state place of work, all the men had ear piercings. They were proudly prancing around with earrings. Not that I think men wearing earrings prance around, that would be stereotypical of me. Evidently my subconscious mind is a judgmental bastard, for that’s what they all did in my dream. Prance around. Did I mention that I sucked at being a DJ? Fortunately I had to leave work before I died from sheer embarrassment at my own failure.
After leaving work I went to a place where I played with a few lions.
I think the lion bit was just my mind’s idea of putting the whole dream sequence into perspective. Pulling everything together in one ginormous pile of WTF?
PS – Don’t bother supplying me with a meaning for this particular dream. I know what you must be thinking: “That’s interesting… How often do you smoke mushrooms?” I least I know I’m kinda off. But welcome to my wonderful life.