Ever dream other people’s dreams?

Henri Rousseau The Dream

So the other night I made a mistake. I got my pills all ready for taking. I take a cocktail of meds in the morning and a very different one at night. I got both ready and left them out. I came back and took my dosage, then did some night shit. I lay down to sleep and wasn’t sure if I’d taken my dose, so I checked: I’d taken my morning meds. Whoa Nelly. I thought about it. See, my morning meds are somewhat energizing (antidepressants), and my night meds sedating (two anti-something elses, both of which carry such a stigma that I don’t yet dare tell you what they are, and a miscellaneous antagonist, which is the best name for a medicine ever. Sounds very Monty Python. I ANTAGONIZE YOU, IN A MISCELLANEOUS FASHION. Let me throw trout at you and yell the names of shoe brands in a loud voice next to you! Let me crank call your in-laws and your former employers! Let me poo in your pool and key your car! Okay, that’s pretty direct, so maybe that won’t fly. Although it is miscellaneous). So I didn’t know what would happen to me. I needed to get some sleep, though, so I had to take something for the night. I decided to take most of my night meds, too, and brace myself for a shitty night.

What happened? Well, I tossed and turned for a long while. Then I started to dream a lot. I dreamt, but I wasn’t there. I dreamt about Miss Silver Squid on her new job and two people I haven’t seen in ages, Miss Butterfly and Mr. Bulldog. They were arguing, and then Miss Bulldog was asking Miss Chinchilla von Snacula about me. Then I dreamt about a machine throwing cars on someone trying to walk down a bridge, but that someone wasn’t me. I don’t know who that was. It was a dream actor, but usually those cast members are playing me. This time, that person was playing someone I didn’t know. It was eerie. Even in the liminal space between waking and sleeping, it registered as wrong. That should be me there, I thought. Who the hell is that?

It is very strange to be displaced from one’s own dreams. To either not be important enough to be be there, or to have had something better to do, or to have missed the train and not made it to to the show.  I still don’t know who the hell that jackoff was. Maybe I was in his dreams last night. Yeah, it was just some fuckin guy. No one famous or that I know. No Christian Bale, he. More like Mel, from the outskirts of Bakersfield.

Red_King_sleepingI woke up refreshed enough, and raring to go for the day, so it wasn’t a bad night. Just…weird. I won’t be making that mistake again. Who knows what will happen to me next time. I might end up dreaming someone else’s life.


One comment

  1. Seer McRicketts-McGee

    It occurs to me my small international readership (hello, Germany and the UK!) may not know where Bakersfield is or what it is. It is an armpit in Crank County. (Crank, for those who don’t know, is methamphetamine. It’s called that because bikers used to carry it in their crank cases of their motorcycles. Now you know.) That’s what they “manufacture” out there when they speak of manufacturing in Wikipedia.

    Bakersfield is on the way other places. It’s not worth stopping. I don’t care what other people say. (Unless you’re my ex, who stopped to buy crack cocaine in Bakersfield. Then it’s worth stopping.) I spent six years living in a place on the way other places. It’s not a great lifestyle. But hey, they got five whole movie theaters! So you can escape your hellish life in Bakersfield by going to the pictures.


    Here’s the Google Map of the town.

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