PERSONAL Another Weird Dream
I actually just awoke from this one, and it's too odd not to get down somewhere. The dream opened as me and someone else (some dude who I don't know) are crawling through the grass in dress clothes. I'm telling him about my experience hosting the Daytime Emmys in New York. (At the time, during the dream, it was the only reason that made sense why I had been to NYC before) I'm telling my "friend" that reading the prompter poorly at the Daytime Emmys ruined my career just as we're entering what feels like a small Chinese restaurant--even though the seating consists of one large table around which everyone sits. And as I'm telling him that awards shows aren't worth risking your career, I see that Jack Nicholson and his wife (is he actually married?) are sitting at this table, watching us enter. This apparently doesn't bother me but, rather, I look for confirmation from both of them--"The Daytime Emmys ruined my career, right? I mean, you've never heard of me"--and Nicholson shrugged his shoulders in consent. My friend and I then sat down on the near left corner of the table (from the door) and Nicholson was seated in the middle of the right side (the table was packed). The waitress (a white woman) then came in and apologized that no appetizers had been put on the table. Nicholson asked if "Those little anchovy pizzas" where going to be brought out... in an As-Good-As-It-Gets kind of tone. I then tried to ask the waitress nicely if she'd bring the appetizers out and she left. A few seconds later, one of the other patrons--a middle-aged female--had something big almost drop on her head. She was distraught and I went over to calm her and then looked up. I said "Stay here, I'm working on a theory." My theory was, apparently, that the object must have fallen from above (I'm smart). I ascended a staircase near the table and there was an entire room (set up like a living room... with a white leather couch, a white wooden coffee table, and a piano) overlooking the large table downstairs. In the room was the waitress... whom I roughly interrogated ("Why did you try to kill that woman?"... don't worry about tipping your cards, John. Moron). She didn't say anything but looked very nervous. I noticed she was clutching a pencil (#2) in her right hand so hard that she was white knuckling and then... she shot me. With the pencil. In my right shoulder. The noise was enough to make my friend come up from the table and see what happened. I felt relieved to see him, thinking he'd help... but instead he said "Mother, what have you done?" That's when I started pushing them both... roughing them up a bit (and trying to figure out how I was shot with a pencil). That's also when I woke up.
I normally don't remember dreams. But when I do, they come in groups... so I'll remember one night and then a night in a couple days, and so on. Since Rob and I have started actual production on our show (OPENS NEXT SUNDAY!!! THE 23RD!) I haven't written anything new. I suppose my brain is trying to get the creative out, since it's been used to writing something creative every week for the past year or more. Who knows?