Last night, I had a dream. No, I’m not Martin Luther King, Jr. Easy mistake to make. I’m just a girl who dreams of ridiculous things that stress her out despite the very real fact that dreams are not, in fact, real at all.
My dreams are much simpler, and much less inspirational than Martin’s. Yep, that felt wrong as soon as I wrote it. We are not on a first name basis.
We are actually on a nickname basis. Ol’ Marty and EmDasherooni.
I’m going to stop now. Please don’t punch me.
When I have ridiculous dreams, I tend to wake up in the wee hours of the morning (called so because I wake up to do just that) and write them down quickly on the notes application on my phone. Why? Because they are utterly ridiculous and surprisingly complex. Except the ones that just consist of Anton Yelchin falling in love with me. Those are not complex. But, boy, are they great.
From dreams of zombie apocalypses and WWIII to dreams of public humiliation or intense fights with George W. Bush, I dream some very odd dreams. And they are very fun to read back when I wake up after inevitably hitting the pillow hard after my momentary wakeful moment.
Last night my dream revolved around me making an acceptance speech at the Oscars. I woke up in a cold sweat from it, so apparently this is something my subconscious is very concerned about. Who knew? I don’t have the heart to tell it that I have no talent in the arts and will never get to the Oscars. I just let it keep on dreaming.
During my acceptance speech, I was trying out the obvious choice materials for the thank yous, because nothing annoys me more than listening to acceptance speeches with vague names that mean nothing to me — I’m sorry Bob who did lighting on that movie I never watched but I just couldn’t care less about you.
I was running off the good ones:
“Thank you to my feet for carrying me here.”
“Thank you to my back for always supporting me.”
“Thank you to my computer for being my best friend and warming my tummy up when it’s cold.”
“Thank you to my brief career at KFC for making me realise that I want bigger and better things in the world. And for turning me off chicken.”
“Most of all, thanks to me, because I’m clearly better than all of you. Seriously, Jennifer Lawrence, eat your heart out. Your stupid, cute, quirky heart out.”
But no one was laughing. In fact, people started boo-ing. And there was Jennifer Lawrence in all her quirky awesomeness standing on top of a table doing the chicken dance. And apparently, that is the height of comedy.
I don’t know when I developed this weird hatred/competitiveness with JLaw, but it’s apparently there in my subconscious, ticking away with ferocity.
I woke up genuinely so mad and sad.
Because when I wake up from dreams, for a little while I forget that that isn’t my life.
Sometimes, it takes ages for it to dawn on me.
In high school, there were multiple occasions where I would avoid someone all day because I couldn’t believe they had said such horrible things about me. Though, of course, they hadn’t. It was my way overactive subconscious.
I actually recently made a video about my very odd dreams, which you can see here if it so suits you:
Other than that weird Ellen Degeneres dream that I suppose I should have seen coming considering how much of her show I watch, that video also highlights the scary Titanic-ish recurring dream I had in year four. A dream that saw me kill and eat my sister… for her own good. I don’t know, that’s pretty messed up. My dreams are a place where very odd things thrive.
Here are a couple of highlights from my iPhone notes app (written in the middle of the night on an iPhone so excuse the mistakes):
There are the simple ones, like 29/08/2013: “I had a dream that Britney Spears and Paul Rudd were married and they were trying to find sponsors to start their juice company.”
And 16/01/2014: “I had a dream that I was a politician but also a secretary and I was in this huge building and there was a little girl who kept changing all the spelling of my signs and then pointing out the mistakes to people but no one knew she was existed because she was so quick that only I saw her, so then they thought I just couldn’t spell and laughed me out of office.”
And 25/08/2012: “I ran into Sam and his family at a holiday detonation* and we were flirting and talking and scuba diving and looking at sea snakes until his dad was eaten by a shark and it was cool.”
*I’m guessing I meant destination.
And then there are the more complicated ones, which I think continue to grow in my weird semi-conscious imagination as I write them bleary-eyed at 2am.
Like 21/09/2013: “I was staying at my friend’s house and I had a tiny puppy and two tiny kittens, one called Black and one called Snow and I could understand them. Then all these people came over and someone had a dog with a socket on a headband and you could put eyes on it. I don’t know why. And then I kept losing my animals so I went down to their backyard and they had heaps of hidden animals including a lion and the lion was charging at the bars and he escaped and chased me and it was petrifying and then Mike from the show Suits came and saved me with his girlfriend. Then his girlfriend took me out for tea and she had to leave and so Mike came and we started flirting and he was Laura’s brother and she was encouraging me to marry him so we could be sisters but then I felt really bad so I ran off into a sofa factory and everyone started yelling at me. It was not very relaxing.”
And this one: 16/10/2012: “There had been a war, mostly based on beach front, and during that war this crazy old lady decided to take advantage of the circumstances and kidnap me and these two kids and this other guy (may have been named Jason, I can’t remember). She hardly ever fed us and we were pretty much dying. Then as the war was ending, we heard a knock at the door. There was this shirtless old Indian man and he got off a boat and found us and saved us. But the old woman ran away. We all knew that the end of the war was still dangerous, so we wanted to escape from the house. Jason decided to be a hero and stay there to protect Ollivander, who was dying there in captivity.* Then James and Hillary were there because me and the old man ran into them on the beach. Instead of battle ships, there was a freak storm. James died pretty much straight away. Then Hillary and I found a piece of wall to cling onto. We stayed there for hours. Then Hillary died. Finally the war ended and the Indian man found me. He said “follow me” so I did. He led me to a room filled with all kinds of domestic birds. He said “these are your people. You will not want of food and water as you are with your people.” And so I lived out my days surrounded by birds, sheltered from the outside world.”
*Clearly I had just been watching/reading Harry Potter.
I know I’m not the only one who has these weird dreams. That’s what I love about people — no matter how powerful or scary or amazing they are, I know for sure that they dream some weird ass shit at night. And that is comforting.
There is really no purpose to this blog post, except to say that I know you secretly dream of naked mud wrestling against the powerhouse duo of Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie. I just wanted you to know that I know your secrets there.
No matter how serious life gets, your subconscious is a beautiful, scary, ridiculous place. And that is really awesome.
P.S. I wrote ‘dream’ too many times and now it doesn’t feel like a word anymore.