I had a pretty bizarre dream last night.
It started
with my best friend and I getting involved in some kind of holographic
zombie game. There were a number of celebrities playing, including the
guy who played Thomas Cromwell on The Tudors, Cillian Murphy and Sean
Connery, among others. We played until evening came around, then headed back to a conveniently placed villa to relax for a
few days. Upon arrival, my friend and I wandered into a garden and attempted to strike up a
conversation with Cillian Murphy and the guy who played Cromwell, but both were rude to us, so we went back to our shared room to bitch about them.
This was when I noticed two sores on my forehead. Both
started fairly small, looking like tiny patches of dark freckles, but quickly became more and more severe, until
they were unbearably painful. One had festered to the point where a hole
had formed, allowing me to see inside my skull. Peering in afforded me a
view of my brain, a pack of cigarettes and, strangest of all (yes, stranger than the rogue pack of cigarettes) a full-sized room filled with various furnishings, the walls covered in elaborate circuitry. I pulled out the pack of
cigarettes and proceeded to smoke them, not at all concerned with the
fact that I had a room large enough to hold numerous people somehow defying physics and fitting inside my skull. I was
concerned about the head sores, though, but instead of going to the
hospital like a normal person, I decided to wait until morning for my doctor's office to
open. None of the people around me contested this idiotic plan.
As things progressed, I also began noticing that several of the
moles on my body had swelled up into pulsating blood blisters, each
roughly the size of a grape. Did this discovery encourage me to go to
the hospital? Of course not. Instead, I lay in bed, clutching my head in
pain as my friend played a song on guitar to try to cheer me up. At one
point, Sean Connery noticed my agony and came over to coo poetic
verses and various philosophical statements in an effort to comfort me.
Cillian Murphy also came in to apologize for his earlier rudeness,
explaining that, despite what the public believes, he was actually
70-years-old and didn't know how to relate to 20-somethings. I told him
that he looked good for his age.
Eventually, morning arrived, and it was time for me to go see the
doctor. Exciting the villa (by myself, of course -- because who needs an escort when they've got a hole in their head and blister moles taking over their skin?), I found myself in the parking lot of the strip mall next
door to my complex. Conveniently placed villa indeed. My doctor's office was supposed to be located in the lot where the Pizza Hut used to be, but I
discovered a sign on the door which said that they'd moved to a new
location, way on the other side of the city. Instead of going to a local
clinic or, you know, a hospital, I stubbornly chose to continue trying
to get to the doctor's office.
By this point, my head sores were beginning to affect
my cognitive abilities, so in my confusion, I accidentally stole a car
and crashed it into a street sign just outside of the strip mall.
Realizing my mistake, I got out of the vehicle and headed toward the bus
stop (no cabs or ambulances or hospitals in dream land, I guess), until I discovered that I didn't have any bus tickets. I turned
back, starting towards the convenience store in the strip mall, all the
while in severe pain and surrounded in a cloud of confusion. During this
short trek, I pass by a guy whom I went to junior high with. He was also
apparently my ex-boyfriend (which is actually a recall of a previous
dream I had where I dated him; dreams are funny like that), and a bitter ex at that. He took the
opportunity to mock me for my predicament. I ignored him and continued
to make my way to the store.
The confusion struck again, this time leading me to get lost and somehow ending up in a department store. I wandered around in
there for a bit, decided to buy a jacket, then headed up an
escalator for reasons only known to my subconscious. The escalator (or maybe the
confusion) led me inside a display class. It took me a while to find an
exit (I'm assuming that the way I came in magically sealed itself up or something), during which time I knocked over mannequins and caused general
chaos, much to the chagrin of the retail workers, but I finally found a way out through the back... which brought
me right into someone's happy little home.
So, I went into this house and found some kids playing with Lego.
By now, I was in pretty bad shape from all the sores and throbbing blood blisters. I could barely stand, let alone
walk, and thinking clearly was pretty much out of the question. I stumbled around the room before collapsing right onto the Lego,
destroying the children's creations. Their angry screams brought their
mother into the room. She was understandably upset upon finding a
stranger in her home, and my attempts to explain the situation to her
only made things worse -- and not just for the obvious reason. As she
quickly herded the kids away from me, she explained that my sores had
somehow caused me to become highly radioactive, making me a danger to
everyone around me. I reacted to the news by jumping over a suddenly-appearing railing.
Unfortunately for dream-me, in all of my confusion, I'd wasted
the entire day wandering around like a moron. Alas, the doctor's office was closed for the evening. I was forced to head back to the villa to spend another night
waiting for treatment (since the hospital apparently still wasn't an
option).
That's when the dream ended.
