You thought I was done?
Well, actually, I thought that I was as well . . . but then I remembered that there was still football to be played and that people were still devoting their time to it. So I am BACK!
And . . . I'm going to tell you about the dream I had last night.
(I'm SORRY! I realize that listening to other people's dreams is tedious. But I remember this one really well and I don't have any other good idea for this week's post.)
So . . .
The dream begins with me standing on the sidewalk of Disney World Paris. I'm watching cast members if cadet style blue military uniforms march in a small parade formation while tourist families walk the other way through Main Street USA (though, if it is Disney World Paris, maybe it is the Main Street Elysee?). Over the park's hidden speaker system, I hear a voice announce that effective immediately, the French language will only be spoken within the Disney World Paris park. The operators apologize if this is a problem for people, but they believe it is the most effective decision for the workers and the visitors to the park.
I shrug and cross the street. I pass by a deep blue colored combination recycling/trash receptacle. And as I pass it, it moves and talks. I realize that it is a park cast member working inside the fake trash can and it is their job to delight the passing guests with conversation and fun kid-friendly jokes about throwing away and recycling your debris. I momentarily feel very, very sorry for the cast member squatted down in this terrible costume. . . . and the scene shifts . . .
I'm still in Disney Paris, but along the other side of some other street. Now I am sitting on top of a real trash dumpster of some sort and I'm sitting hammock style, reclining back with my sandaled feet crossed, out in front of me. As I am relaxing, park goers are stopping to talk to me, commenting politely--but critically--about my feet. They can tell (because I'm wearing sandals) that there is some sort of fungus on my foot (especially my left one) and they are suggesting that I go to a doctor to check that out. And perhaps my feet need to be cleaned as well because one passer-by goes so far as to pluck a very small, extremely tiny plant seedling off of my big toenail. He presents it to me and claims that it was growing on my toe. I'm embarrassed--but not as much as you would expect for some reason.
. . . and the scene shifts again . . .
Now I'm still sitting on the dumpster things, but it is moving. Maybe it has wheels or something? And it is moving pretty fast down a two-lane country road, at night. There are houses and driveways, and drainage ditches along either lane of the road. It is a typical country road almost anywhere in Georgia and it is becoming night. There are cars behind me and other cars approaching me in the left lane. I am controlling the dumpster vehicle sort of like Aladdin controlling the magic carpet or maybe a large skateboard--leaning left and right to make the "vehicle" change direction. I'm trying to stay with the flow of traffic, but eventually I have to veer into the left, oncoming lane and then things get really dicey. I'm weaving more and more and eventually get driven off the road on the left into the driveways of the houses. I slowly come to a stop.
Now . . . while I am maneuvering the dumpster car--even though I am sitting on top of it without a seat, a steering wheel, or a dashboard, I can hear the radio. And I'm listening to an NPR broadcaster that is talking about whatever the news of the day are. But the radio broadcaster is filling in for the normal host and this substitute person is messing up reading the script. Eventually the broadcaster gets so off script that they begin talking about the person they are filling in for instead. Trying to imitate the famous person's voice and phrases. It's weird and not what you expect to hear on the radio.
And, that's it. The dream ended.
But what is another layer of odd? I've had portions of the maneuvering a weird skateboard vehicle on a country road dream before. And each time I'm forced off the road because I can't do it well enough. Why is this a recurring dream for me? And what, if anything, does the rest of the dream mean? If you have ideas, I welcome your comments.
And until I am here again, please remember . . . no one cares what your dreams are--especially when your favorite football teams playoff dreams are about to be crushed by forces completely out of their control.