Dream Journal: "You must really suffer from the terrifying clarity of your vision." (November 11, 2009)

Preface

Note: I do not do drugs.  I just have weird dreams.

Last night, I was groggily flipping through TV channels, when a sitcom called Bored To Death caught my attention. A budding writer bravely approached a famous film director at a NYC gala. I don't know why, but I immediate resonated with the writer's character.

The prestigious director: "So, I really love your [writing]: dark, funny, perverted…beautiful. You must really suffer from the terrifying clarity of your vision."
Novelist: "Thank you. I do suffer. Thank you."

Cut to my Life

"Yes! Thank you. I Do! I do suffer. Daily!" The words echoed in my mind as if I were responding to the director. "You have no idea what I go through every night. AND THE MORNINGS! The mornings are worse. When I fall back asleep, my visions become more lucid than before. And don't even get me started on what afternoon naps do to me!"

I've been steeling cat-naps recently. (And when I say cat-nap, I mean a 2-5 hour nap.) I feel like I deserved them. Recently, I learned that in order for the brain to operate at optimal performance it required a certain degree of rest, nutrition and exercise. After a little calculating, I discovered that mine was hovering down around the 35% efficiency-level.

Here's a little health gem for y'all.  "10% body dehydration equates to 10% brain function deficiency."

Later

Anywho, let me give you the highlights from today's afternoon dream.  I was on another planet paradise resort like the one in The Fifth Element.  There, I was introduced to a new sport that could be best compared to a hybrid of soccer, rugby and Orson Scott Card's Battle Room.  During my non-sports hours, I was a judge for my 5 ***** hotel's talent contest.  There was a cute brother/sister act where she played piano while he sang classical music.  Honestly, no one was expecting anything great.  Too our astonishment, when this boy in his mid-20's opened his mouth, his music held the power to cure depression, arthritis and cancer.

After his performance, he was immediately ushered onto a space shuttle bound for a terrestrial orbit. The government was afraid he would be stolen or killed by another country or terrorist organization.  In my time schmoozing on the planet, I must have run into an undercover secret agent because just before the space shuttle took off, I was asked a series of cryptic questions and subsequently invited to join Cancer-boy on the shuttle.

As we floated into outer space, my body started to dissolve; actually drip off my bones. The last thing I remember seeing before my eyeballs fell into the back of my head was planet Earth coming into view as our ship broke the Ionosphere.

Then next thing I knew, Cancer-boy was leading me peacefully to heaven. We used the stars as landmarks as we walked through the cold, dark galaxy. (A music box melody played in the background. It felt a little bit like Atreyu at the end of The Neverending Story.)

THE END