Dream Journal

No one likes to listen to the contents of other people’s dreams.  I know this.  Still, I had a whopper of a dream last night and I feel like writing it down so’s I don’t forget about it.

You’d probably infer this anyway, but this was inspired by Robitussin.

So I was dreaming some inocuous dream (I think Philip Seymour Hoffman had joined the Imps, my college improv group, and he wanted us to see “Doubt” in a digital theater).  For some reason we ended up in a big, big room standing under a loft-like overhang.  Some ambiguously gendered pale seer showed up and prohesied a horrible creature that is doomed to constantly be killed and then operated upon by its murderer.  Then it comes back to life bearing the terrible results of its posthumous operation.

Sure enough, this thing slithered down out of the loft overhead and the only weapon I had handy was a bit of stiff wire.  The thing had 5 womens’ heads, but not lined up on its shoulders like a hydra.  They were more sort of clumped together, protruding out of a huge fleshy mound on its neck like peanuts in a melty Mr. Goodbar.  It may have had a slug’s ass instead of legs.  I did battle with it and won, but for some reason I didn’t perform an operation on it.  I guess the cycle was broken.

Then I woke up and it was 4 AM.  I rolled over to go back to sleep but I didn’t want the monster to show up again so I thought of monkeys playing soccer.  Then I realized how easily that could turn into a nightmare, so I thought of something else.  Football, I think.

Robitussin is nightmare sauce.

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