i love dreaming. i really do believe i have the best dreams ever dreamt. they are complicated, funny, weird, action-packed, vivid and intense. i remember most of them, some in detail.
when i dream, i’m aware i’m dreaming and can control what happens in my dreams. if i don’t like what’s happening, sometimes i can alter the outcome.
other times i yell “cut” and wake myself up. i’ve even gone as far as telling myself what i wanted to dream. i want my brain studied by an oneirologist. even my dreams have dreams.
when i was younger, my dreams used to be nightmares of me being chased by a monster and world destruction. sort of like godzilla comes to new york. he’s mad, stepping on everything and making a mess. i no longer have those dreams.
i feel like i’m talking too much, so i’ll share one of my crazy dreams below.
so what had happened was. i was in bed, my favorite place, with victoria next to me, her favorite place. in front of us was a shelf of tadpoles in a bag waiting to turn into frogs.
one frog jumped on my bed and my mother picked up the frog and placed it on the pillow next to my head. this makes me mad. then that frog has baby frogs all over the place.
against the covenant with myself, to never purposely kill anything, yes, i wrestled with that decision in my dream. i felt bad, but only for a few seconds because i decided to kill them. i found a broom and let it drop repeatedly on their heads until they stopped moving.
a tribe of africans, real ones from africa, dressed in tribal clothing found out about the killings and called for my death.
apparently, the mother frog was a big deal. they surrounded my house and a man who resembled arsenio hall was sent in to negotiate my surrender. he also cooked the meals.
the protesters chanted outside of my home and demanded my head be cut off while also saying some pro-life message for the mother frog. the hypocrisy.
so arsenio, or the man, came up with a story that this was all too much for me to handle and i killed myself.
the tribe wanted proof that i was dead only, i wasn’t dead. i was scared. i got down on the floor and crawled behind the couch looking for a way out.
side note: there was a body but not mine. it belonged to the queen frog who was now a woman, dressed in african garb laid out on an altar.
while i was on the floor a little snot-nosed kid (an american kid) saw me and ratted me out. i felt which long fingernails being dragged across my skin and in braille when translated read: we are going to torture your behind!
i went before the king (and a few bad men) and begged and i mean repeatedly begged for mercy in words that mimicked a fervent prayer.
i even tried to wake myself several times but i could not. this is the first time that’s ever happened. i could not get myself out of this situation. so there i stood before those men begging for my life and then guess who woke up?
the frog. the queen. all their attention turned to her and not me. jesus ain’t the only one who can resurrect the dead.
okay i didn’t pray for her to wake up, but the lord provided a sacrifice for abraham when he was going to off issac and may have thrown me a bone since the eyelids i was born with malfunctioned.
turns out she was not dead, but fainted. she was alive and i didn’t have to die. she forgot to take medicine that caused her to become a corpse and framed me for killing her?
sure, i hit the frogs with the broom and her babies too but it was later determined the babies were not considered living things, the queen was alive and i was off the hook.
the queen revealed she was pregnant and we had a celebration. there was a piece of cake that had been cut for me and just as i made my way to the table to get it, guess what? i woke up.
anybody want to take a guess at what this dream means? i can’t make anything of it. it was just funny to me.
what about you? are you a dreamer or do you just sleep the night away.
