Today I’d like to share a few gems from my dream diary. I like to keep the diary to interpret the more haunting dreams, but occasionally I’ll wake up in the morning to find these precious entries scrawled in my handwriting.
I ordered something from a catalogue for the cats. The orders always come with free gifts and this one had two; the first was some kind of toy or treat. I knew they often sent cat poop as a gift (for some reason this was a good thing). I thought I might put it in the litter box so Jill would mark her territory there instead of in our bed. Sure enough, the second gift was a bag. I unwrapped it and from inside there was a foul smell. I nearly puked.
It was poop.
Clearly that dream came from one of several nights when Jill decided the bed was the best place to take a shit. She probably got one treat instead of two or something. Jill holds a grudge.
I got a phone bill in the mail that had no address on it. I called to try and pay it but they kept transferring me to different divisions. I had to repeat the story each time and nobody knew what to do. One woman was irritated and said her job was to input credit card numbers and she wouldn’t help me.
Even in dreams, I can’t escape this grim reality.
I was with my brother and we were seeing Lord of the Dance. At one point I was on stage as the jester/pixie character playing the flute. Then I needed to do laundry. My brother came with me and we left the theatre. We went to get my laundry. There was a lot of it and it seemed like the pile would never end. I was worried I’d miss the next part of my performance. I finally finished putting the laundry in and hurried back, but there was already a pixie onstage.
I was a middle-aged man starring in Jekyll & Hyde but I forgot most of my lines and had to improvise. The audience seemed to like it but I think I was having an argument with someone, maybe a colleague. I might have been Kenneth Branagh.
There you have it; the secret wish in my heart of hearts. I want to be Kenneth Branagh.
Some gangsters (can’t remember what they looked like or what their goal was) kept letting Cringer outside. They wanted him to kill animals.
Because of course the gangsters want to use my scaredy-cat to kill things. Of course.