Requiem for a dream

Kevin Bacon, who has my cell phone number.

My dreams (as in, while I am sleeping) sometimes take the form of action-adventure movies in which I star. Last night was a superb example, except the details remain fuzzy. All I know is that my brother and I were being tracked by the CIA. We were in possession of something Very Important. This Very Important Object was also of key interest to Mr. Kevin Bacon (yes, that Kevin Bacon). Mr. Bacon was also tracking the two of us, only it seems his intentions were far more benevolent than those of the Central Intelligence Agency, who apparently wanted to blow all three of us up. Mr. Bacon only wanted to make sure that Brother and I were adequately hiding the V.I.O., which we kept referring to as a “boat,” only it looked like a colorful box.

Excellent at tracking boats-that-aren't-boats

The chronology and intensity of the dream seems to lose a bit in the translation, but trust me: it was intense. Apparently, the “boat” held some Real Important Info (or something) because the CIA had dispatched spy satellite to our home. Not, like, hovering over our house – inside of it. Like, floating around our heads. It was quite creepy, to say the least, and made hiding the “boat” quite difficult.

As Brother and I rack our brains for hiding places, Mr. Bacon calls me up (yup, on my cell phone). “Are you okay?” he wants to know. “Be careful! They have eyes everywhere!” Talk about some Oscar-winning dialogue writing there! My subconscious is a genius!

As we run from room to room in the house (which is inexplicably, extraordinarily messy – think “episode of ‘Hoarders’ messy), we are frantic: time is running out! Why are we so rushed? Is the CIA closing in on our location? Is some sort of explosion imminent? No! We must get to 5 o’clock Mass with our parents, who are waiting in the car!

We stash the “boat” in Brother’s closet, behind a Tupperware box, and dash to the car. Just as the garage door is closing, we hear a creepy voice coming from the sky: Target found. Proceeding to location.

Brother and I exchange terrified looks in the backseat of Mom’s SUV. We are doomed.

I awoke with a jolt. This dream was f’ing scary, man! Stop laughing! The CIA was going to get us! Even Kevin Bacon could not save us!

Too old for sorori-hos!

After I finally calmed down enough to fall back asleep (in my half-conscious state I was convinced this dream was some sort of foreshadowing of doom), I dreamed that I was working backstage at some sort of university-sponsored show featuring Jared Leto. He wasn’t singing, he was – I don’t know? Performing selected scenes from Fight Club? – and I was the stage manager or something. Just as I was about to convince him to quit flirting with a bunch of sorority girls hovering around his dressing room and make out with me, I woke up.

That’s all I got.

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