Dear Future Me,
I want to talk to you about our eff’d-up crazy dreams. Are you still having them? Because it seems like every time I turn around (or go to bed) my subconscious just starts spewing out totally random crap that makes no sense to anyone ever. It wouldn’t be so bad, except that this incredibly random shit is also hilariously detailed and thus every tiny nuance of these totally banana-sandwich dreams gets recorded for all time in my absolutely filterless memory.
Lets talk about some dreams I’ve had recently. Last night, for example, I dreamt that I went to Germany with my Sopie. Now, my Sopie does in fact speak much better German than I do, or at least she did back in grade eleven when we were taking Saturday language classes like the hooligans we were. Anyhoo, I was trying to speak German and sucked and my Sopie was all like “blah blah multi-lingual blah” and I was like “Francais?” because apparently that is the default language my brain goes to and my Sopie was like “No, Leslee, wrong language. GAWD.”
Anyway, we kind of had a fight about this, and I was convinced that “zum” meant “I am” which is totally wrong, so in conclusion: dear dream Sopie, I am sorry we got into a big fight about speaking German whilst in Germany. It was very inconsiderate of me to let my pride ruin our trip. I promise that the next time we travel across Europe I will not argue with you but instead just try to sit back and relax and enjoy the ride.
Note: “zum” comes from the phrase “zum geburtstag” which means “happy birthday.” So I am still, you know, trying here. It’s still German, at least.
Anyway, the night before last my dreams weren’t just stupidly detailed, they were also bat-shit crazy. Which happens with surprising regularity, as I am sure you are aware.
I dreamt that I had borne two children with a friend of mine, and I had kept it a secret. I was living in a rented flat (my landlord was a pig…like, literally) and I heard this friend in the hallway outside my flat arguing with the landlord (who told him about these secret children) at which point my friend burst in and proceeded to verbally berate me. The gist of the message was “if you don’t want to tell me about these kids, then I don’t care. Raise them yourself! You whore!” etc, etc. Naturally, I was devastated.
To support myself and my two kids I took up flamenco dancing with a group of other girls. Well, flamenco/burlesque dancing. In an outfit covered in fruit. On the side of a skyscraper, on one of those little benches that dudes use for cleaning windows thirty stories up.
At one point I was standing on the street, contemplating the mistakes I’d made in my life. Was this all there was for me, strip-tease flamenco dancing on the sides of tall buildings? I could barely believe that this is where I had ended up. What happened to my dreams, my ambitions? What happened to that innocent little girl I once was? I had wanted to be a doctor, dammit. But it seemed like this was never to be. Then some dude stopped to tell me that my ass looked like two big bunches of grapes and that he just wanted to take a bite out of them.
And then I woke up.
You’d think after a dream like that I’d wake up and want fruit salad or maybe I’d want to take up latin dancing or maybe I’d finally take a long, hard look at the choices I’ve made in life. You’d be wrong: after I woke up, all I could think about was how much I wanted to watch The Coneheads.
What? That movie is a classic.
So anyway, Future Me, I’m sorry if you’re still dealing with the fallout of these crazy nighttime ruminations. I don’t really understand why my brain does this to you/me/us, I guess sleeping for eight hours a night is just boring and it has decided to spice things up. Also, Future Me, if you still remember that dream from grade twelve where your boyfriend at the time confessed that he was secretly Hillary Duff…I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.
Hopefully therapy is going well,