Calling Dr. Frood

Clearly my subconscious is trying to tell me something(s) right now. The last two nights have been riddled with some of the most vivid and bizarre dreams that I may possible have ever had… Some of the images contains wherein include:

- Being urinated on by cutoff jean short wearing trailer trash biker types (In fact one was quite reminiscent of my meth-head, Hell’s Angel’s associating trailer park living Uncle… I’m sure I’ve mentioned him. A few Christmases ago, my gift from him was a 4L jug of summer wiper fluid that he had stolen from a construction site. He was SHOCKED to learn that I both lived in Toronto and thus would not really be able to carry the 30lb jug back east and that I no longer had a car).

- My Dad dying and me not being remotely sad about it. My biggest concern was that both my brother and I forgot to tell my Mom and we debated at length as to whether we should call her at work to tell her that her husband had died, or wait a few hours until she got home.

- Living in a kind of cottage farm where the animals roaming the field were monkeys. Scores of monkeys.

- My English Chemist proclaiming that he was gay (This KIND of makes sense because last weekend he sort of developed a man-crush on CBS’ boyfriend)

- Buying a Peter Crouch t-shirt for $5.99.

- Being able to see the Horse Nebula with my own eyes (even in my dreams I’m a nerd).

- Being severely annoyed at not being able to eat at Meze’s, a wonderful Greek restaurant on the Danforth. It was shortly after this that I blew a hissy fit at my parents who were visiting, who wanted to eat at this ghetto mall… I took off in a huff and proceeded to shop in said ghetto mall, which is where I scooped up my Peter Crouch t-shirt. Shortly after my Dad died. Did I kill him? I may have… I can’t remember this detail… I was most put out about not being able to eat at Meze’s though. Also, I’ve been uber craving souvlaki lately… If it was socially acceptable I could have eaten it for a week straight!

- Watching TV in front of work colleagues with no pants on. Where were my pants? No freaking idea. But I wasn’t fooling anyone with that blanket wrapped around my bottom.

There is more… oh yes, there is more, but the rest makes even less sense than the above. Do I hate my Dad? Monkeys? Am I gay? Was I Greek in a previous life? Do I have deep down desire to parade nude around the office? Do I secretly wish to participate in water sports? And where does Peter Crouch fit in???


No comments: