Last night, I had a dream.
I dreamed I was still living in my parents’ home (horrors!) and that I desperately needed a place to live that was not too expensive. As luck would have it, I heard of a community that was apparantly located near Columbus Circle that boasted vast, beautiful, fully furnished apartments. For cheap!
I moved in, and called the owner because something was leaking. Turns out, the owner was Elton John, and he did all repairs himself. He wore sunglasses and overalls.
My dreams have gone to BizarreVille since I began taking the drug proprananol for migraines a few years ago. The neurologist warned me, things were going to get freaky at sleepytime.
I had a dream that Judge Judy and were driving in my late grandmother’s green sedan. JJ and I were smoking my grandmother’s beloved Tarryton Light 100s. Her Honor told me I could never appear before her in court, because she liked me too much.
I had a dream that my entire family was assembled in the elementary school up the street for a private show by Ozzy Osbourne. I got up for a minute, and my father stole my seat and refused to get up. I wound up next to my mother. Ozzy came out into the classroom was too scared to sing. He ran off down the hall. Sharon popped up, removed a small animal from her purse, and said, “Don’t worry loves — I’ve got the bat!” and lured her husband back to the stage.
I’ve had recurring dreams of being chased by the Japanese Mafia. They’re dressed like old-school gangsters, in pinstripe suits and fedoras, with violin cases under their arms. They’re just Japanese.
The best are the vivid, re-occuring dreams involving Don Draper. But those are — private.
How about you?
