Another Dream Post

Do people keep dream blogs? Wait, why am I even asking? Of course people do. Well, I’m sorry if you’re getting bored of my dreams, but really guys, they’re frequently the most exciting part of my day. And this one will be short, I promise. I just wanted to let you all know that last night, I had a dream about Michael Jackson and it was terribly sad!

Basically, we were just hanging out. He was wearing a very simple outfit; the whole white t-shirt, black pants, slick ponytail, Black-or-White era getup. He had a million things to do, but none of his tasks were music industry related. He was like a burned-out soccer mom. People needing drives here and there, and needing meals fixed, and so on and so forth. Day-to-day, normal stuff. And he kept looking at me with the saddest eyes and saying he was so tired, and clearly wanting me to say something helpful but I just kept dishing out meaningless platitudes. Then he left and I woke up.

And in case you were wondering, why yes, I do spend about 63% of my waking hours thinking about Michael Jackson (and evidently a good portion of my non-waking hours as well).

I just love it when I dream about famous people, living or dead. One time I dreamed I was friends with the characters on Dawson’s Creek, and the dream ended with all of us bursting through a television screen. Analyse, Dr. Freud.

Nightmare That Turned Out To Be A Pretty Rad Dream Upon Analysis

Hands up, everyone who’s had the following experience:

You wake from a terrifying nightmare. Possibly the most terrifying nightmare you’ve ever had. Possibly the most terrifying nightmare that anyone, from the dawn of mankind, has ever had. Quivering and upset, you rouse the person sleeping next to you, who sleepily opens their arms for a hug and asks to hear about the dream. You begin to recount the details, but as you carry on, you realize… whoa, I had the best dream ever last night!

I had one such dream last night.

At one point it was xmas and my coworker was sleeping over, but I don’t think that part was either here nor there, because the next thing I knew, I was meeting my friends Katie and Samantha downtown. Sam had been at a drugstore while it was in the process of being held up, and the robbers swiped her wallet, so she wanted to go to the bank. Katie and I went with her. While we were at the bank, the robbers (clearly the same robbers from the drugstore) decided to hold up the bank as well. I was standing at a wicket when the group of scary-looking, black-clad men stormed the room and told everybody to lie on the floor.

While they collected their money, they also selected new members to join their robber posse. A man who worked for the bank but clearly expressed sympathy for the robbers selected me and my two friends from the group and led us to a large room upstairs. Everyone else was left to be executed. (SEE? I TOLD YOU IT WAS SCARY!) The upstairs room was like a gymnasium. It was filled with people, each of whom brandished a weapon. We were told we could take our pick of four weapons. Katie chose something that was referred to as a “kitana” but, inasmuch as I understand Japanese weaponry, was not a kitana at all. What it was, was a long, black stick with some white fabric wrapped around the middle like a tensor bandage. Absolutely useless in a fight to the death, which is what all three of us were about to engage in, but after seeing Katie choose it, Sam and I both reasoned that “she knew what she was doing” and went with the “kitana” as well.

Upon selecting our useless black sticks, the Man from the Bank called a young girl up to demonstrate her abilities. She was probably about 10, and she was armed with one of those bizarre knife things that Raphael the Ninja Turtle had on the cartoon show (Wikipedia informs me that this is called a sai). Anyway, she threw her crazy knife and lodged it in the distant wall with such speed and precision, I knew instantly that all three of us were done for. So I pulled my cellphone out of my sock (???) and texted Steve with a message along the lines of “Call for help. Am at bank currently being robbed. Address is Bank Street and something. I love you very much.”

Due to the powers of omniscience you so frequently get to enjoy in dreams, I knew I wasn’t supposed to have the cellphone and that I’d be in big, big trouble if the Man from the Bank realized I had it. I was more scared of him hearing the beeps and chimes of the phone than I was of the little girl with the big, triple-pronged knife. I expected Steve to text me back if he received my message and my heart dropped when he didn’t respond, although it picked up somewhat when I heard sirens in the distance. It was at this point that my cellphone was found out, but rather than kill me instantly as I assumed they’d do, the Man from the Bank and his merry band of murderers in the making proceeded to make fun of me for being in love. They were going on and on about how Steve didn’t really love me and how he’d never send for help because he doesn’t care about me…

…When who should burst through the door but Steve. Holding a sai of his very own, no less. He declared to the room that he couldn’t bear to leave me alone in such circumstances, and if I was going down, he was going down too, dammit!

And of course, the next thing I know, Steve, Katie, Sam, and I are all free and about to simply walk out of the building, but it comes to light that while everyone was lying on the ground during the holdup, the robbers went around and stole all the ladies’ debit cards out of their purses, so we had to wait in line and have our bank accounts frozen. When I got to the front of the line, the banker was telling me I couldn’t freeze my account without my debit card, and I was getting increasingly frustrated trying to explain to her that the reason I need it frozen in the first place is because the card has been stolen, but she’s having none of it. So the elderly woman at the wicket next to mine picks up a copy of the form that must be filled out in order for an account to be frozen, slaps it down in front of the teller, and tells her to fill it out and stop giving me a hard time.

Then the next thing I know, Katie and Sam have gone their own way, and Steve and I are running running running, and we get split up but it’s okay because we have some predetermined meeting point in mind. Unfortunately I keep running into obstacles at every crossroad so I can’t head down to the meeting place, and I don’t trust anybody I see, even the police. I expect that they’re all in cahoots with the robbers and they’ll just take us back to the bank if we ask for any help.

And then the alarm went off.

In conclusion, yes, it was a horrible nightmare what with all the crime and death and running and what not, but all the Japanese weaponry and Steve being all gallant was actually pretty rad. Honestly guys, why is the word “kitana” even in my head to begin with?

P.S. I know dream posts are totally boring in general, but I think they’re entertaining for people who were actually in the dream, so this post is mostly for Katie and Sam.

P.P.S. This is not the first time I’ve dreamed about exotic weaponry. I once dreamed a movie… literally, a complete movie, with credits and everything… that was about a medieval schoolhouse where the students would be beaten with a flail (google it) if they misbehaved. Anytime a pupil acted up, the dungeon master/teacher’s aide would declare “IT’S TIME FOR A FLOGGIN’!”. While I was dreaming it, it was sort of terrifying (even though I was dreaming it as a movie, not an experience), but when I woke up I wished I could remember every detail so I could sell it to a B-movie studio and make some big bucks.

The end!