This is getting ridiculous
(And, no, I am not talking about the fact that my car battery has become as temperamental as a sugared-up, nap-deprived 2-year-old, or the fact that comments on my last post apparently are showing up on a delay or not at all. Although I COULD be. Definitely. Especially considering that the car battery also chose to act up--read: die three times--on the day I got a flat tire. Buuuut ... we're not talking about that.)
I have always been a big dreamer, and I don't mean in a theoretical, "reach for the stars" way. I mean literally. You know those people who say they don't dream, or don't remember very many details of their dreams? Not me.
But this? THIS is getting absolutely, unbelievably ridiculous. The past few weeks, I have been having the craziest, most vivid dreams. Like EVERY night. You know about Mr. Mayer and his Wonder Lips. Well, the other night, I dreamed that I was going to die. I had until the end of the weekend, and I was writing cards to people, telling them goodbye, and I started to panic because I was running out of time. I walked out to where my mom was sitting and I just started to cry my eyes out, like, "I just need one more day. I want more time than that, but I have to have one more day."
Yeah. Fun dream. So, naturally, I woke up in the middle of the night completely freaked out.
I fell back to sleep a little while later and had a dream that I went to visit an old friend of mine who just had twins, someone I haven't seen since high school. I could remember her little girl's name, but not the boy's, so I got embarrassed and left ... to a box at the Super Bowl. There were a ton of people in there, and all of a sudden someone squeezes in and sits down next to me. I turn, and it's this guy I haven't spoken to since college. He asks me what I'm doing these days, and I can smell his cologne, and I'm not really sure where he's going with any of it, so I get up and walk into this other part of the box, where I see Seth Rogen and Jonah Hill.
This is the part where the record needle scratches, like, "Uhhhhherrrrrrrrhhhhh."
SETH ROGEN and JONAH HILL. Actually, Jonah Hill just walked past me, so he really wasn't in it, but SETH ROGEN. Why. WHY. WHO DREAMS ABOUT SETH ROGEN? I'm not even going to get into the rest of it other than to say apparently Seth Rogen and I are having lunch at noon on Tuesday (which, as I'm typing that, makes me think Sheryl Crow* must have been playing in the background). And, yes, John Mayer is a much, much better kisser and I can't believe I just said that but it had to be said.
And then the next night I had a dream I told Miley Cyrus she was a ho. I have no idea why.
Sadly, despite my best attempts, I have yet to dream about hot, broad-shouldered Olympic swimmers. I'll keep you posted.
(* From the song All I Wanna Do. Just because I don't think anyone else in the world will get that.)