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???