I had a weird dream last night. I dreamt that I was going to have macaroni and cheese for dinner, but the babysitter made it for lunch. So I took the last box and hid it so I could use it for another day.
Meanwhile, the Pope was my houseguest. He didn’t wear Pope garb or anything like that. He was walking around with a cane (the kind with 4 prongs on the bottom) and a red robe (not a holy one…one like a housecoat).
I got home from work only to have the Pope tell me, “I found a box of macaroni and cheese and made it and had it for lunch.” Well, I blew up! I mean, how DARE he eat my macaroni and cheese! I yelled, “I don’t care if you ARE the head of a whole religion…that box was hidden in the bottom of my panty drawer! Didn’t that give you a clue that I didn’t want it eaten?”
I was so mad that I went online and complained about it in the Pit! I called it, “The *&^%$ Pope ate my macaroni and cheese!” and got a lot of replies, mostly of people calling the Pope names. I woke up when I started reading the replies.
I can’t even get away from this board in my sleep!
Don’t feel bad, dear. Just the other day I referred to myself, IRL, as “beatle” and it took my colleagues’ quizzical looks for me to realize what I’d done.
I was at an IRL Doper meeting in a very large bathroom carpeted with sleeping bags. Everyone was drinking fruit-laced vodka out of cocoanut shells except for Uncle Beer. He was drinking beer (of course) and leading us in a rousing rendition of the “Is a rock alive?” song from Sesame Street.
I woke up singing:
“a rock can’t breathe, a rock can’t grow, a rock can’t eat and that is why you know…it’s not alive…no no no”
Scary, isn’t it? This place has supplanted even my usual stress dreams–which is good, 'cause they’re lots more fun.
Keeping in mind I’ve met exactly 2 Dopers ftf, it’s amazing how vivid the folks are around here. Can’t remember most of 'em in detail, as they fade upon waking. But in one I was in my office; swamped, stressed and overloaded and in waltzed UncleBeer, Eve, Ed, and NTG. They plopped themselves down and offered jazzy but forgotten commentary on the sno-globe of paper I tossed around.
I’ve concluded one thing from this: Freud was a putz.
I had a dream about three months ago in which Alphagene was floating, facedown, yet still breathing, in a contained pool of iridescent blue liquid, then saying that if you did this, you wouldn’t need to sleep half as much.
I keep quitting. Every day. Then I’m back here. But I haven’t dreamt about it. Yet.
Are there DA chapters in all major metropolitan areas? How do I find the local one? I tried calling Information, but ended up at a Narcotics Anonymous meeting, instead. There is probably plenty of overlap…