I wanted to sleep. Really I did. But there were these 5 foot tall ants…


Circa 1980, shortly before the Afro went out of style..
I continue to plow through life, and the dream world, as if I’m in a bumper car.

I wanted to sleep.  Really I did.  But how do you stay asleep after running from a bunch of 5 foot ants wearing vests that say Monsanto holding spray guns that look like metal detectors while they scamper around eradicating the human race? 

What do you do when you’re cornered in an outside apartment walkway and sprayed?   You wake up—for all of about 2 minutes.  Then you go back to sleep again hoping the next dream gets better.

 Have you ever had one of those dreams where you knew you’d been poisoned by human hating ants but now you’re in the second dream and it’s nothing but part 2 after a short intermission?  

 This time, I’m being caustic to criminals following me around Dream World.  Why is there an outdoor restaurant on a river inside a mall?  Don’t they have a rat problem?  My BAID (my, but alas I digress).  I’m telling off a bunch of criminals while a young girl is following me.  Hell, I’m in Dream World, what can they do to me?  She starts mouthing off to the criminals, too, lifts up her arms and one guy cuts off her hands.  The stumps inexplicably form flesh over the wounds in front of me.  No screaming, not even a whimper, she continues walking in back of me as if nothing just happened. 

 I’m not feeling so good, walking lopsided and acting soooo sick.  Hell, I’m not sick.  I’m only dying!  Being poisoned by giant ants isn’t like being young and walking around the remainder your life with stumps for arms! 

 So, what do I do?  I go through the rest of the dream trying to find her whatever social services there are in Dream World. That’s made difficult by the fact that I don’t know what I’m looking for or how to find it.  I mean, what laws pertain to victims of horrible crimes in a place that doesn’t exist?   That’s when I notice the 12-year-old boy following stumpy while she follows me. 

 Could this dream get any worse?  That’s a question most people over the age of 13 have learned not to ask.  Well, it is Dream World and I don’t remember asking in a dream before.  That’s my excuse and I’m sticking to it.  My BAID.

 The answer:  Yes.  It could get worse.  My sister enters the dream and now I’m following her with stumpy and that weird boy following behind me.

 My sister is going to an important interview, walking through 2 executive offices before reaching it.  Did you know they have phone books in Dream World?  I’m looking up the names of doctors in a thin phone book inside the office where my sister is having her interview.  The man in the $1000 suit sits in back of a desk that had to cost as much as a sports car trying to interview my sister.  She scowls at me as I loudly discuss how real people do social services in the real world.  Then I proclaim, “I’ve found it!”  My sister has that look as she stares in my direction, it’s a mix between, “I’m sorry for you” and “why the hell can’t you just get out of my life?”

 I march out of the office with stumpy and the boy following.  There’s a man and woman in the next office trying to hold a business meeting. They’re now as annoyed as my sister.  And what am I thinking about?  Who the hell has an executive office that you can only get to by marching through 2 other executive offices?  Hasn’t anyone in Dream World heard of hallways?   I look down at the phone book.  The names are there but no phone numbers.  With that kind of logic, no wonder it’s so hard to find Social Services in Dream World!  I was more than happy to wake up from that dream, too.

 I dragged off my bed, 5 dogs following, typed the rough draft of this blog and made my usual breakfast of oatmeal with sausage pieces in it.  Instead of being the way I like it, ½ cooked with each piece of oatmeal still recognizable, it was like that mushy stuff you get when you go to a restaurant.   Ugh! 

I thought about going back to bed but, damn—I can’t do things right in Dream World, either.