Dream a Little Dream

Not feeling too well upon awakening at 5:15 a.m. yesterday (headache), I went back to bed and slept until nearly 8. And here's what happened in my subconscious.

My family and I were gathered in Springfield, MO at someone's house, but not my mother's. It was a gift-giving occasion, probably Christmas. My mother gave me a photo book with pictures of me growing up - pictures I'd never seen before. I decided to walk home (to my mother's house) from the event. Not sure why.

The sky was ominous on the way. Out of nowhere, many - somewhere from 18 to 30 - tornadoes appeared on the horizon. Fearful, I took cover in a ditch.

As the tornadoes approached, it was quickly apparent that they were NOT tornadoes. They were lime green helicopters, and they were attacking. Suddenly, I was not alone but in a crowd of people and we were being taken prisoner by our attackers - the military from Great Britain.

The British soldiers wore lime green t-shirts and jean shorts. I'm not sure how I knew they were British.

Somehow I must've escaped because the dream shifted. I was then in a room with James Bond and a blond woman (whom I did not recognize). I was dating James Bond, you see (the Pierce Brosnan iteration). And I knew and had experienced the great British invasion. Someone must've discovered the location of Mr. Bond and company, because we were suddenly attacked by rushing snipers (why snipers would rush...I dunno. I must be playing too much Unreal Tournament). Fortunately, we were behind bars (didn't notice that before) and somehow able to hide. No one was injured in the sniper attack.

A member of the attacking party tried to firebomb us, but we were all able to quickly get behind the blast door (where did that come from?) and huddle around a large ice-cube driven device. Safe again.

The next attack was with a long device that looked like pruning shears, but they fit through the bars, and the user nearly caught me by the nose (I believe that was the inteded use for the implement). Again all of us were safe.

The next attack was the final straw for my relationship with Mr. Bond, though. The attackers captured my cat Ajax and were going to kill him. It was there that I lost it and began screaming. I somehow left - hopefully with the cat.

Doesn't make much sense, does it? But I guess the moral of the story is: don't mess with my cats.

hln

Posted by hln at November 13, 2004 07:20 PM | Anecdote | TrackBack