The neighbors’ Halloween party last night had an extended jam session on the bongos that lasted from about midnight to 2 or 3 AM. (The time change and my intense desire to go to sleep made it difficult to gauge). Once it was all over and replaced with the sounds of people in their early twenties right outside my window shouting about how drunk they were and how they had to get a cab, I was finally able to get to sleep and have some of the weirdest dreams.
The best part about my dreams is that they’re just weird enough to be marginally entertaining, and so obvious it’s easy to figure out what they’re telling me. Here are two of last night’s:
I have to do a project pitch of some sort for a company in China, but I don’t have any ideas. I realize I’ve been putting it off for too long and it’s time I have to turn in something. I spend a couple of days writing whatever comes to mind, then turn it in. The next day, the Emperor of China calls me into his palace and starts chewing me out. He says my ideas are totally lame and half-assed, and then, “With all your going-on about how great you are, I expected something really spectacular. But this is sub-standard work, mediocre at best.”
I stand there for a minute, thinking it’s not appropriate to argue with the Emperor of China, then finally speak up. I say that I never go on about how great I am, and he isn’t being fair. He says, “whatever,” and sends me away.
Then I’m at a mall, with a friend of mine from high school and another woman who I can’t picture or identify, but I know I have a huge crush on her. I split off from them to go to a Johnny Rockets-style restaurant in the mall, except it’s owned by Frito-Lay and all the dishes are Cheetos-themed. While I’m standing in line at a counter to place my order, I notice they have this weird lighting effect on everyone in line. It affects just your skin — not your hair or clothing — and makes it look like you’re made of Cheetos. I keep passing my hand in and out of the light beam, staring at other customers’ faces, and wondering how they did it.
I turn around and see that my friend and the other woman are standing behind me. My friend is really interested in the effect, but the other woman (who I still can’t see or identify) just mutters that it’s lame. She says she can understand why the Emperor of China thought it was a bad idea.
Incidentally, if you like reading other people’s dreams, the site Slow Wave by artist Jesse Reklaw has comic strips based on reader-submitted dreams.