The Inmates Run the Asylum

I cram my brain with horror films for two weeks during AMC's FearFest.

A week later and I get my first nightmare. Nothing new, just Michael Myers trying to kill me. He's been trying to kill me since I was six and the closest he ever came was the time he stabbed me with the pitchfork (that was a bitch).

He topped himself last night, though. He chased me down on a horse while carrying the decapitated head of some poor schmuck.

And those were good times.

I had a great dream last night, one for the books. Or in this case, the LJ.

It started off with me being called in as a relief pitcher for the Cubs. We were losing 6-16 and for some reason Jeff Baker was my catcher (odd because Jeff Baker is an infielder, not a catcher). Except Jeff wasn't at the game (being held in some bizarre park behind a hotel) and I had to go find him before I could pitch. I'm guessing they just put the game on hold while I went roaming around, looking for my lost catcher.

I ended up going in the hotel, which was hosting a con of some kind, and I ran into a friend of mine as we both got on this bizarre glass elevator that seemed to have functioning issues. It wouldn't stop long enough on a floor to let you off safely and it descended way too fast. This was all fun and frustrating until a giant lizard of some kind appeared out of nowhere. I'm not normally bothered by lizards, but in this case I made an exception, and I bailed from that elevator as quickly as I could.

And I admit it: I left my friend. Hey, I'll remember her fondly, but when giant, obviously-going-to-eat-me lizards are involved, it's every able bodied person for themselves.

This move ended up being a frying pan to fire manuever as it turned out the whole hotel was infested by dinosaurs. Mostly of the meat eating kind, velociraptors and a T-Rex, and the lesser raved about allisaurus. After cowering in a corner to avoid the attentions of the T-Rex (man, I hoped Jurassic Park was right when they said that T-Rex responds to movement), I ended up running for the door with a group of people, but the only face I recognized was Nathan Fillion, for some odd reason.

And then I woke up.

Consequently, I've been pretty sore today, particularly by right shoulder. I guess I'm just not up to snuff when it comes to major league relief-pitching and running from dinosaurs.

Tuesday night, I dreamed about being at my elementary school playground, putting on a talent show, and in a brief moment of WTF, Jason Alexander was there. Foolishly, I thought that my brain was mellowing out.

Yeah, right.

Wednesday night, I dreamed about getting involved with some gang bangers due to a case of mistaken identity; some girls set another girl on fire; some guys decided to pass the time torturing people and I barely managed to convince them not to crucify my friend Damon; and then we made our escape by driving away in a mobile home. So, yeah, that was a good time.

Then last night I dreamed that after I won some really fucked up lottery that involved winning some scary movies (including the Evil Dead trilogy) as well as three grand, I went to a drive-in movie with some guy in a convertible and we were attacked by a rotting demon with a chainsaw. We were saved by a bleached blond Ash Williams (circa Army of Darkness in terms of everything but hair), but not before the demon trapped us in the convertible and the chainsaw cut my arm. Honestly, the worst part of that dream for me was the blond Ash. Bruce Campbell does not look good with blond hair.

So, yeah, that's where my brain is at right now. Unrestrained, gory horror every time I close my eyes. Which you'd think would make me hesitant to go to sleep, but no. I don't even qualify those dreams as scary because I just rolled over and went back to sleep. A scary dream for me is one that keeps me awake.

Fun side note: In real life, I have no scream. Like, I open my mouth and nothing comes out. I think I've only been successful a couple of times in my life. Most of the time in my dreams, however, I've got a rip roarin' scream. Go figure.

Dear Erik Estrada:

I like you well enough, even if I do think your smile is scary in person, but I see no reason for your presence to invade my dreams. I don't want to do a scavenger hunt with you. Please, don't force me. It makes me uncomfortable.

Good luck with that,
Chesh

Dear Subconsicous:

Erik Estrada? Really? I know we love the 70's more than is necessary, but Erik Estrada? What the fuck have you been smoking?

Continually perplexed by your choices,
Chesh

I'm going through another stretch of having trouble sleeping. Falling asleep and staying asleep are just not of the good (it doesn't help when a cat assaults your door for an hour either). The best sleep I got was sometime after four and it lasted until about eight.

Unfortunately, this stretch of sleep featured a dream that included the following:

-my old elementary school playground
-a two person scooter
-a childhood friend
-my grandparents house
-killer bees
-Jeffrey Donovan
-Dom from NCIS: LA
-my garage
-Eric from NCIS: LA
-alien mutant squid
-an alien baby that would kill us all if her core temperature got too hot
-dancing with Beyonce
-a shopping center parking lot
-a sandstorm turned flood in Las Vegas
-disaster survivors holed up in a hotel
-a hotel room filled with stashes of cheetos and no dry towels

Yeah. I don't know either. My brain likes to keep it lively.

I know it comes as a huge disappointment, but I think I'm going to forget the Castle rambling tonight. I'm suddenly very tired (my sleep was less than restful last night due to nightmares, a rarity for me, surprisingly enough) and while I'm going to watch the episode, I can feel my coherence slipping away and I'm saving it up for finishing up my day's work on NaNo.

I've got five bucks that says before Castle is over, I'll be wide awake again. That's how my brain works.

It's why I have nightmares featuring Eileen Brennan.

Last week I dreamed that I had a rocking makeout session with Nathan Fillion.

Last night I dreamed that I and three other people beat up and robbed a church deacon.

This was after the dream that started off with a wedding and ended with a search for a missing person at the Apple and Pork Festival and some point in between it rained and I changed clothes.

I'd give five dollars to know what was going on inside of my head.

I woke up with morning to find a bloody tissue in my bed and a little blood on my face and only the fuzziest of memories that I dreamed about Jeffrey Donovan.

So, clearly, the logical explanation is that Jeffrey Donovan is an unscarred, living version of Freddy Kruger who invaded my dreams and busted me in the nose for endlessly mocking him for getting a DUI.

Had I known he possessed that power, I would have kept my mouth shut.

Now I know and knowing is half the battle.

I've had a blah bordering on downer day and I'm watching some He-Man to give myself a lift.

And for whatever reason, I just had a bizarre realization.

I've seen people in the real world that have teeth like Beastman. Maybe their fangs weren't as long, but there were definitely similarities.

I don't know why my brain works like this.

I've heard music in my dreams before. Even woke up with the song in my head.

But last night was the first time I have ever had a dream featuring mariachi music.

I can't remember anything else about the dream. Just mariachi music.

Sometimes, I look up the meanings of my dreams. But, I've got to tell you...if there's any dream interpretation site or book that has a meaning for mariachi music that isn't "you're craving Nachos Guadalajara at El Rey's", then I truly fear for myself and the world.

Mariachi music? Seriously? I haven't heard that in ages.