Now, I think I’ve mentioned that I have some pretty fucked up dreams. I think I talked briefly about the one where my beautiful (albeit slightly ghetto) VW Beetle turned into a cardboard toboggan with multiple types of hazard lights…but that’s not nearly as weird as they get. So I thought I’d outline some here so you would think that I’m even more crazy, and also because I need a post where I’m not raving and bitching about everything around me (though those are kinda cathartic…)

I’ve recently been having a lot of stress dreams. I call them this because they’re the companions to a huge onslaught of stress in my life. And recently, between teaching, choreographing a student’s audition routine, working two jobs at the lab for the same amount of pay and trying to find a new place to live…the stress has been eating away at my soul. (What little was left anyway).

I’ve had numerous flashbacks to college, dreams where I forget that I was taking a class and try to pass the final but I can’t remember where the damn classroom is. Also ones where I’ve been doing the homework and not turning it in, and occasionally forgetting to go to the class. I had one dream where I was freaking out because my brother’s paper was due and he hadn’t finished it yet. Why the fuck I cared about his grade I don’t know, because that kind of mother hening is left up to dear old Mum. (She’ll kill me if she knew I called her that…)

But some of my favourites are those little dreams you have between snooze alarms. For some reason mine are always continuous, but rather choppy because of the constant having to wake up and shut off my alarm. My alarm is the TARDIS (de)materialization noise, so I’d be fucked if The Doctor really showed up in my room…I’d be all like “Fuck off, I need ten more minutes” and then would never travel the damn universe and would hate myself forever, kinda like I hate myself for never going onstage to participate in one of Penn & Teller’s tricks when I was ten…yay for run on sentences and ADD trains of thought. My apologies…wait no…I gave you fair warning.

So my recent favourite was Sunday morning when I decided the snooze button sounded like a great idea even though it was going to totally fuck with my sleeping schedule and I’d probably be way crazy fucking tired come Monday morning. But whatever. And if I had finished writing this on Monday I could tell you the details better, but I’ve suddenly decided that the disjointed version might be way more entertaining. Procrastination working in my favour. Epic Win.

So basically it went like this. I’m in England. This should be awesome right? No. I’m with some kind of group. I think it was a performance group. Maybe my baton students, maybe some group I made up. No idea, that’s where it gets fuzzy. All I remember was that my dad was there, which was a weird detail in and of itself.

So we’re going to this hotel that we’re staying at, but it’s fucking huge and we’re trying to park. Problem is that I’m driving an American style car in England so I keep driving on the wrong side of the road even though I freaking love the fact that I could have been driving on the left. Fail.

So we drive into this clustersuperfuck of a parking lot and get told to go to this specific section (which has two kinds of identifiers, like a floor and a sector. Nothing in England is huge enough for this kind of system. They don’t have the room. Now if it were LA I could see this, but I don’t dream about LA. So I’m trying to find my damn parking spot but there are little houses all over it and strange back roads that aren’t labelled and people are standing on the side of the roads offering mead in large mugs which is probably the worst idea ever. I’m blaming that one on the fact that I’ve been helping out with bringing in DUIs. Thanks work for slipping in there. Hateful.

So I was either on the phone with my dad, or he was in the car, or running along next to the car telling me to hurry up but offering no help in that obnoxious way he does. Then suddenly I’m driving by a windmill/ferris wheel sort of deal and it crashes either killing or wounding everyone riding it but I’m too busy trying to park that I don’t pay it any mind. Yes, I’m a cold heartless bitch in my dreams. I try to make up for it in my life though, I swear. So yea.

Whoever’s slipping me the drugs, I don’t know whether to tell you to stop or give me more. I’m disturbed, but it could be way more interesting.