I’m painfully aware of the fact that no one likes to listen to people relay last night’s dream. I know this because I do it and I see your eyes glazing over and yet I continue anyway because frankly I’m mostly talking for my own amusement. Also, I’m not like the others. My dreams are fascinating because I am fascinating.
Like many Gen Xers, the grooves in my brain developed while I was being incubated by the warm glow of my mother, the TV set. So my subconscious is chockablock with pop culture iconography with no room for important things like self-discipline or executive function. When I spent most of Fall 2017 in a psych ward, for most of my stay I was in a dreamlike state on another plane. There I wasn’t a bedraggled, begowned mental patient who hid pills in her bed and was amassing an enviable collection of slipper socks. I was celebrated chanteuse Eartha Kitt. Buxom bobby soxer Audrey Horne from Twin Peaks. RuPaul’s Drag Race alum Katya as her boy self as Mork from Ork. One of Bert’s beloved pigeons from Sesame Street. Tyrion Lannister. Crow T. Robot. When I was getting an MRI I was cozied up in the MRI machine with Jon Hamm and Rachel Bloom. That didn’t suck. I was Miss Cleo. I was The Sentinel. I was a messiah. Not the messiah, just one of many. I’m a modest messiah, m’kay. There was a brief moment there when I was gonna transition into a unicorn but ultimately I didn’t go through with it. I regret that sometimes.
So, yeah, my brain’s a freak bitch y’all! And while I am not certifiable at this juncture, my id remains vivid.
In my manic days you could not convince me David Bowie wasn’t God, but these last few years have proven that if there ever was a God, he went out for cigarettes sometime around 350 BC, and hasn’t been back since, not even to drop off a nerf football at Christmas.
Since I was a little girl, Bowie visited me in my dreams. We recorded an EP together in my bedroom while wearing matching striped pajamas. I don’t remember any of the songs but trust, they were brilliant. Not as good as anything from Low mind you but it was at least a million times better than Never Let Me Down. Which isn’t a brag because that album is unlistenable.
Anyway, ever since the Covidening, just like that deadbeat deity who owes all of Earth’s children several millennia of child support back pay, dream Bowie’s abandoned dream me. Instead of chatting over Salmon Niçoise with David and Iman en plein air in the Marais, I’m dodging die-ins in front of Hobby Lobbies. Instead of trading cheeky barbs with Mr. Jones over an overflowing ashtray of stubbed out Cowboy killers, I’m being walked in on in the bathroom by Britney Spears mid-pee who’s threatening to remove my legs with an oversized nail file because she wants them for her own.
“Can I finish peeing?” I ask her.
“No!” she responds.
I do anyway and luckily overpower her, apprehending the nail file that I use to decapitate her. I’m a dream warrior.
In another dream I’m Vince Neil performing live with the Crüe. I’m on scaffolding surrounded by groupies who dance like the Mary Jane Girls. We sound more like Def Leppard than Motley Crüe but my huge dong looks awesome in my tight leather pants. This was one dream of like 20 I had that night. In another one I was witness to Madonna recreating her Blond Ambition tour 30 years later and her lip fillers made Amanda Lepore’s mouth look as thin as John Waters’ mustache.
I’ve seen other quaranteenies muse on social media that their dreams have been especially Banana Town too. Welcome to my world, friends! There are theories floating around as to why. Who knows. What are dreams anyway? Mystical oracles? Pernicious premonitions? Our brains taking a huge dump? I don’t know. I’m not a scientist. But I am a dreamer. And a schemer. And a writer (allegedly). So, when I need a break from stuffing my maw with spaghetti, weeping for humanity, and zooming with pals, I’m gonna keep a dream journal. Here. On my blog. On the internet. I welcome you to share your own dreams and perhaps offer your own interpretations of my subconscious droppings. Let the conversation begin!