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May 2nd, 2005

Oh my subconscious...

Since I have nothing else interesting to report (while I continue to throw all my time at the upcoming Stoker weekend), I'll entertain you with two strange dreams from the last two nights:

Last night's was a big tense action thriller kind of thing: I was both in pursuit of a bad guy and myself being pursued by more bad guys through a gigantic Disneyland-like amusement park while on top of a double-decker train that went around the inside of the park. The train was open-air on the top level, and the guy I was pursuing was on the ground somewhere ahead of me, while the guys after me were coming up from the bottom level of the train. I knew I had to time getting off the train precisely, in order to both elude my pursuers and catch up to my quarry, who towards the end of the dream I could spot in the crowd just below me. This was all accompanied by the knowledge that the man I was pursuing had committed a series of violent, gruesome slayings in the amusement park (where apparently I lived as well). I got off the train and was about to nab the guy when I woke up (darn). Yeah, Disney would love to make a movie out of this, right?

Two nights ago: I was entertaining a petite, pretty Japanese reporter who was obsessed with Ricky. I took her to his childhood home, a large comfortable suburban house where his family still lived (and which couldn't be farther from the truth in real life!). In the middle of the house was a large bathroom, and the wall around the door of the bathroom was covered with photos of him, which I knew she'd love. One photo showed Ricky and I, and I was wearing some godawful gown made of dark blue-green lame that was embarrassing even in the dream. The reporter loved this wall, and asked me to take a picture of it for her; she handed me her camera, which was about the size of a digital camera, but each picture was ejected from a tiny slot in the top (like Polaroids only smaller). I tried to take a picture for her, but didn't know that the camera had a flash on top that popped up for each picture, and my fingers kept the flash from popping up. I repositioned my fingers, and took another shot for her that was perfect, and she was thrilled.

At least there were no cigars...