Dream Analyst Wanted
Now there's a job you never see advertised, eh? "Dream Analyst Wanted" And yet what could be more useful? I waste hours of my working day trying to figure out the "wft?" of whatever I dreamed during my fitful, but surprisingly rewarding, sleeps.
Anyway, last night, I had a dream - just like Obama's, except its context was back in Martin Luther King's day mixed up with now. I was parked in my mom's old Impala in front of our house in Sault Ste. Marie. My kids were in the car (ever since my separation, in my dreams, my kids have been growing up in my family home, not their family home - it's sad, too, because none of us belong there and my mom is always irritated that I'm underfoot and then I remember she doesn't live there anymore, either, and I try to find her senior's residence but the streets are like a maze and by the time I get there some lady I don't know tells me "Oh, she died years ago" - uh, don't tell her that, please and thank you - she hates it when I dream she's dead) and I was trying to "get the show on the road", which is an expression my mom always used when we were going on one of our holidays which inevitable started off badly when my mom would head in the wrong direction and refuse to ask anyone for help, when the dog jumped out of the car. Except the dog wasn't my real life dog, he was Ashton Krutchner.
I am NOT making this up. And I never think about Ashton Krutchner except on occasion to feel sorry for him because I think he's too young to be stuck with a 1000-year-old bad actress like Demi Moore. But now that I have dreamed about him as my dog, you'd be amazed if you met my dog how much he's like Ashton Krutchner. And I swear to Gawd on my mother's grave (oops, did it again, don't tell her, please and thank you) that the odd time he's watched "Punked" with the kids, he's barked - even though there wasn't a dog on the screen at the time and he only ever barks at the tv when there's a dog guest star (with the exception of Demi Moore). Anyway, I have everybody tucked in the car and we're ready to go when Ashton opens the door and jumps out and starts running around in the street with his paws up in front, panting, and looking all spiral-eyed - JUST LIKE MY REAL LIFE DOG (except he keeps his paws on the ground). Well, I'm so afraid he's going to get hit by a car (the traffic on my childhood street is what has irrevocably changed the past, I'm afraid - we used to be able to play baseball on our street, yelling "car!" every ten minutes or so on a bad day - now you'd be killed before the first pitch, so it's a good thing kids have video games or they never get any exercise at all) that I pull him by his hair because it's all I can grab hold of since his clothes are - get this - part of his body. Just like my dog's fur is part of his body except when it's spring/summer/fall/winter and he's shedding it all over my apartment.
Then, and this is where it gets weird, Ashton Krutchner vomited on me and I woke up. And Dude, I am TOTALLY vomit-phobic.
Dream analysts, please.
