The Vagaries of Dreams and Bananas

In case my 7 readers haven't noticed, I have some pretty weirdass dreams. I listen to accounts of dreams from other people, and while they seem a bit kooky/funny, they're still mostly logical. My dreams are just fugged up sometimes.

Last night I dreamed that I went to Dopey's new apartment (he questions the code name "the boy") to help with unpacking. There were boxes everywhere and we started making out, like we have once or twice in the past. Then I notice this woman sleeping on his couch, who I at first thought was his ex, but it turns out she was his mom, and I was uber pissed that he didn't tell me she was there so huffed out the door. I vaguely recall his response was to run after me and tell me she wasn't Korean or something. Buh?

Next I dreamed that I was trying to kill a hugeass roach. Every time I clunked it, it got bigger and more cartoony-looking, till finally it was just staring at me with huge cartoon sad eyes and I didn't have the heart to kill it. This was all during a phone call with someone from Italy. I don't know anyone in Italy.

In the waking world, things aren't making much more sense, because I went to search for a banana bread recipe only to be accosted by this recipe for...CHEESY HAM AND BANANA CASSEROLE. If you threw up a little in your mouth reading that, it's ok because I did too. Sometimes Paula Deen's stuff doesn't look too bad, but other times it looks like she just lets things fall from her fridge into her mixing bowl.

Completely Jacked Up

I had the most jacked-up dream last night so I'm hurrying to blog this before I forget it.

So it started out, I was back down at the University of Illinois, and I had just left some guy I was dating to run over to a math class, which if you went to U of I, you know most of the math classes were in Altgeld Hall. Only when I got to Altgeld, it wasn't really Altgeld, and I wasn't really going to math class, I was having surgery because something was wrong with my ovaries or my eggs or some such crap. Buh??? Not only was I having surgery, but I was going to be awake for the whole thing, and since dreams are crazy like that, I had no issues with this. So I have the surgery, wide awake and not feeling a thing, but I had to come back the next day because the woman who did the surgery (in street clothes by the way) said she might have nicked my spinal cord somehow. BUH??? So this time I'm still not getting anesthetic, but another surgeon comes in and pinches the crap out of my arm when the cutting starts, presumably to take my mind off having my abdomen cut open. Right, then. Then I heard my best friend's brother and her husband outside the room and I begged the pinching surgeon not to let them in because they wouldn't want to see me like this but he let them in anyway. Then I woke up.

I didn't even have Nyquil. I have no idea what that shit was all about.

Nyquil Dreams and Diphenhydramine Wishes

So yes, it's official, I'm sick again, and last night I had a hefty dose of Nyquil before falling asleep. I'm going to assume that the Nyquil was responsible for the crazy that followed but who really knows?

My dream started out with my being a bridesmaid for one of my Indian girlfriends who is already married. Not only was I wearing a poofy lavender satin gown, but my hair was done up in a style best described as "Epileptic Bouffant on PCP". Said horrendo hairstyle was also collapsing so I was running around trying desperately to pin it back in place when I ran into the new James Bond, Daniel Craig, sequestered in a closet watching all his own movies on DVD. This I found to be totally hilarious, so of course he became irate and then we started making out. Buh??? I don't even think the man is attractive (although yes ok, that shot of him in his swim trunks in Casino Royale is indeed tasty and delicious. From the neck down anyway.) So once I escaped his clutches I managed to catch a train (that was really a boat) with one of the girls who was in my sorority in college, some college kid, and a nice little lady who works at my company in our New Jersey office. I then hopped off the boat-train with my colleague in time to catch my best friend's sister driving around looking for my best friend. By this time my bridesmaid dress was gone and we were all running around in our underwear, which was ok because we had new dresses (this time in black satin - presumably my brain was starting to shake off the Nyquil) waiting for us. Except we still had to wear the purple veils that came with the original dresses.

I'm not sure if I should never take Nyquil again or take it every night from now on.