My Dreams are Satirizing Me...

This morning I awoke from a dream...well, let's be honest, a nightmare. As I struggled to remove one of the cats from my face, I replayed the dream in my head, and I am forced to arrive at the conclusion that my dreams are satirizing my life...

Don't you love us Mummy?

If it fits, I sits...ENJOY NOT BREATHING HU-MAN!

Ahem.


So, anyways, I replay the dream in my head... It's a zombie apocalypse (HAVE YOU SEEN THE NEWS?!!!), and my folks and I are trying to escape the house, naturally.

Go on...

We argue about whether or not to fortify the house or just to flee. We argue about which weapons to acquire. We argue about what foodstuffs to pack. We argue about wasting time arguing... Are you seeing a pattern here?

My mind is being blown!

Those who know me, know of my...history... with the zombie genre. The "zomre" if you will (how droll). I even met my husband when we were both extras in a Romero zombie film (u jelly?)

Breathtaking.

Heck yes.

My brain tormenting me with poorly written zombie-dreams is cruel, if appropriate.


So there I am in my dream, arguing with my father about which baseball bat to take as a weapon. I mean, really getting into the minuta of heft & swings-per-minute vs muscle fatigue. A smarmy reinterpretation of my trip this Sunday to Grand Bend's batting cages...

Red pants? $15?! ...now I know u jelly.

But the dream takes a turn... we decide that the house is ultimately undefendable, so I pop out the screen from my old bedroom window and plan an escape route to the car. Someone suggests that we should bring food with us...this seems to be a good idea. TO THE KITCHEN!

I spend the rest of the dream alternating between arguing which dried bean soup mix to pack, and yelling at my mother to get off the internet and get in the car.


...I wish I was joking.


The fantasy-icing on the dream-cake of mockery, was a message written in red lipstick on the inside of my dream closet (thanks Freud) in the style of the recent Canadian Psycho, Luka Magnotta.


The lipstick message scrawled in my dream closet?

It is too late for me, not too late for you.

WHY BRAIN? WHY?!!

oh god whyyyy?

Welp. Time for some therapy!