Thursday, October 18, 2007
Thankfully It's Not Real
So I just had this dream that I was in an airport terminal. In the middle of the baggage carousel, I found a passport, foreign money and hundreds of American dollars. I was holding on to this, walking through the terminal with the family when we realized that VP Dick Cheney was sitting in a chair in the middle of the terminal. We lined up to have our photos taken with him, individually, and when I looked up again, there were 6 or 7 Dick Cheneys sitting in chairs in the middle of the terminal, facing all different directions. Those Cheneys were decoys but I still knew which one was the real Cheney. Finally it came to my turn. Now, again, there was only one Cheney sitting in a chair in the middle of the terminal with a few Secret Service scattered about looking...secrety. I handed my camera to my mom and was so overcome with excitement that I ran over, turned to sit on Cheney’s knee like one does Santa Claus, and ended up toppling both of us over on to the floor.
(By the way, Cheney in this dream didn’t look anything like real life Cheney but it was him.)
Horrified, I started to get up and realized that Cheney had hurt his hip and was having trouble breathing. Secret Service was standing there, talking in to little wrist radios and motioned for me to pick Cheney up and put him back on his chair. So I did this but he was still having trouble breathing. Secret Service then told me that I was to read Cheney’s computer read out on his torso and tell them what it said. (He was a real person but had read outs like a robot would.) I told them and they told me to karate chop Cheney on the side of his neck to get him breathing right again. I argued with Secret Service that this was not a good idea, perhaps they could walk the fuck over here and do that themselves because I already accidentally toppled the guy over, I really didn’t need to be screwing up his neck now either. It was during this stressful back and forth that I woke up.
What the hell?
And then it dawned on me. Ahhh...I ate chicken too close to bed time again. I am not kidding you. Whenever I eat chicken within an hour of going to sleep, I have the weirdest most fucked up dreams.
Case in point.
Now that I know I haven’t actually injured the VP of this country in my eagerness to get a photo with him and his autograph, I can go back to bed and dream about something else...like say, finding more money in the airport but this time with no passport attached to it.
