I have always dreamed in color.  My mom said that was a sign of a creative mind, but considering the amount of bloodshed my mind creates for me in the wee hours of the morning, I’d consider it a great favor if the gods would grant me a dull inner dome.  I share my dreams occasionally with my friends and family, and while I know there is nothing more potentially boring than hearing a disjointed sequence that makes sense only to the storyteller, I’ve had some doozies I’ve just had to share.

I’ve also talked about them in my sleep, much to the amusement of my husband.  It’s not uncommon for me to say something like: “The monkeys won’t stop peeing on the roof” as I’m nodding off, or “Oh no! We’re out of hot dog stamps!” at 4 a.m.  I always thought it would be awesome if there was a machine that you could hook yourself up to at night that records your dreams and you could watch them the next day.  Make sure you watch them alone first, ladies, in case it’s one of those bodice-ripping romantic ones where a faceless yet handsome stranger comes into town on a beautiful, white horse and rescues you from your tortuous life of being betrothed to the town villain…ahem…

I’ve never had one of those.

But just think, what if you had the most fantastic dream and an agent saw it?  You could be famous and all you had to do was sleep!  Anyone could be a celebrity at any age! You’d see some awkward twenty-something kid on T.V. being interviewed (most likely by Ryan Seacrest) for their latest Freud-winning Dreamovie asking how they did it; he would mumble nervously: “Oh, you know, I was like playing Call of Duty 4? Then I ate like a TON of Doritos, had a few beers, and fell asleep.  I woke up at noon, plugged myself into the dream machine, and like, here I am!”  Or maybe someone like my grandma, who wins an award for having a dream about the Depression in which she relives the moment in her life when she was five years old and broke her leg by getting hit by the only car in town. True story, folks!

I’d like to think I’d be a megabazillionaire for my dreams.  I have always wanted to put them into a journal, but they are usually just best summed up in a sentence or two.  If I tried to make a story out of it, the DEA might get wind and feel the need to raid my home.  Lately, I’ve been having dreams that as a teenager would have loved to have happen in real life but when I wake up and think about them, they are just impractical.  Here’s a few examples:

1. Swimming in a house filled with spaghetti: very much fun, but who do you think is going to clean THAT up?

2.  Being whisked away by stranger on a horse:  ok, who’s going to watch the kids?  Who is this man?  How did he find me?  Was he stalking me?  Will my husband have any clue where to look for me?  Will my husband look for me? Who is going to get my teen to band?  Is the stranger going to try to eat me?  I don’t want to go out like that!

3.  Kicking vampire ass: Oh, yes, I’m CarrieLou, vampire ass-kicker in my dreams, but in reality, I can’t even get off the couch after an hour without my knees creaking. The vampires would TOTALLY hear me coming…plus, I scream whenever I’m startled…I’m a sissy, I know.

4.  Going to a secluded island with my husband: ok, yes, this would be awesome and wonderful, but again, who will watch the kids that long?  Where did we get the money?  How long of vacation time do we have?  Did we check the weather before we left? Oh my God! Did I turn off the iron???

Maybe I shouldn’t eat a pound of Peanut Butter M&M’s every night…

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