Full moon induced nightmares from this week:
I had a pet cockroach. I loved it. Cared for it. It died. I cried.
***
Tashman Reunited- CEO restarted Tashman Technologies with members from the Tashman Hall of Infamy (yes, there is good and evil, slackers). I was left behind in a giant warehouse where Tashman had relocated. CEO left me “in charge” of counting pennies and rearranging nickles and dimes. When they returned from lunch CEO wanted to tell me something, but Ms. DBA didn’t want him to. CEO rearranged the coins, and told me his plan.
Then it started to rain wooden stakes and I heard the doomsday siren. People’s skulls were being penetrated from falling wood from the sky. I saw blood and brains. I ran up the warehouse shelves- it was the end of the world. Full panic.
***
My wife’s brother died. We were going to his wake in an office building in New York. Her girlfriends were there. We were in a shared office space with a bunch of African-American hoodlums in a cafeteria. A fight broke out between them, and next thing I know every black man has an AK-47 and starts gunning one another, including innocent bystanders. 100% panic and fear- No Way Out (nWo). The black guys were full fledged terrorists now, and holding hostages, but it was totally random. I tried to escape but one of them spread bullets in my legs. (I wanted to be in pain, but I didn’t feel it in real life; my dream self collapsed and I was crawling.) I pretended I was dead and non-threatening. Then I made a run for it- I jumped out of the office building after I heard more gunfire. I took a long fall on the concrete- legs first. Blood was everywhere.
“Help.” “Help!” I tried to shout. A tall thin black woman dressed in a pale blue government uniform (like a bus driver or rent-a-cop) came over. Based on her reaction, she was one of THEM. THEY had secured the building perimieter. All was lost. I shouted a one-liner like Charlton Heston. Finally the real police came.
***
Finally it looks like the nightmares have eased up. Last night’s dream was tamed compared to the many deaths of Damian Hospital:
I was with my wife and her younger sister Vanessa down here in Florida. Vanessa was new here, and wanted to go Riverwalk in Fort Lauderdale to go window shopping and/or look at cute boys, even though there are a bunch of places that are closer. I was like, “Riverwalk? That’s a ghost town now.” But they both insisted, so I didn’t have a chance. My heart sunk when I calculated the amount of gas that would be wasted now ($40).
At the mall, I was carrying around a giant cardboard box that I had from my mother’s apartment. There was Styrofoam in it. It was such a big box, and I had problems carrying it, yet it was only containing a rolled up poster. YUK! I think I saw a palm metto bug (or giant cockroach) walking around in it. I shifted my weight, and my wife and Vanessa were walking ahead as I saw more big cockroaches crawling around and jumping out of the box. I ditched the box and kept the Styrofoam and poster, hoping that there were no palmettos inside of it. And that’s when I finally got help in the name of SGT SLAUGHTER, America’s hero. Sgt. Slaughter took his jacket off and the palmettos went away, rolled up the poster real tight- even though it had no rubberband- and handed it to me. “Thanks, Sarge!” I said. I held the poster tight in my hand, and then I saw Verne Gagne on a TV screen. Verge Gagne was in his prime wrestling in a tag team match in the AWA.
I finally made my way through the crowd and wound up in an Internet cafe, where I logged into my Twitter account and added/removed followers.
