I’m going to share a dream I had the other night. Even though sharing it with you a fine folk puts me in danger of being contacted by some suit in the Homeland Security Department. But the dream made me laugh – after, of course, I was awake enough to realized the absurdity.
Just to rest any peeping government eyes at ease, I am not a terrorist. I have no wish to blow up any structure or edifice. I wouldn’t know how to anyway. There is no deep, hidden meaning to my dream. It has a perfectly reasonable explanation how it all came about.
This weekend there was another Walking Dead marathon. I’ve only watched part of one episode once. But anytime there is a marathon on and I become aware of it something triggers in my brain and I have these fantastically, horrifying, adrenaline rushing dreams of me fighting zombies. Once I wake up and realize I’m safe the plots and action really are rather exhilarating.
When I saw there was yet another marathon on I nodded my head. “Cool,” I said to the tv set, “zombie killing time.” Then I kept switching the channels and landed on the Shia LeBeouf movie Eagle Eye. I have watched the movie before and always have the same question, “Isn’t she a little old for him?” I watched a few of minutes of the beginning and saw the computer starting to manipulate the humans. When a commercial came on I kept switching and must have found something else to vegetate to because I did not turn it back.
Apparently my subconscious felt robbed because the other night I was in an Eagle Eye like premise. Somebody or something was holding someone or something I care about hostage. I know it’s a little vague but isn’t that how dreams work? Whatever was being held though forced enough leverage on me to complete the assignment I was given. I had to go into a high rise building in some big city and leave a brownie on a certain floor. What? You ask. A brownie? Yes, a big piece of chocolate brownie that was no ordinary dessert. It was a bomb brownie with no packaging. I carried it in my little hand. No plate or baggie. Just my hand.
In my defense, I did feel awful about my task. I think I tried to get out of it. Actually, I can’t remember if that is true but I’m going with it to make me sound better. Whatever was being held hostage though finally made me succumb to my lot. I had to leave the brownie on a certain floor and then hightail it out of there with no guarantee I’d even make it out.
One problem though, the elevators would not work. I could not get to the floor I needed to. You can imagine the dilemma I was in. A live brownie bomb in my hand and me going up and down the elevators. I couldn’t ask for help. Time was running out.
It became so intense that I woke up relieved to discover I was only dreaming.
The next morning I thought about it. A bomb in a brownie? Please, no psychoanalysis here. My cure is to stop flipping through the channels and maybe turn off the tv. Although if you ask me, that could make a pretty good movie. It could be called The Brownie Bomber.
Still waiting for my zombie fighting dream.