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 took a sick day today. I haven't felt very well for a few days and after a crappy night's sleep last night, I just decided to give in and stop fighting it and just feel bad.

I think it was the crappy night's sleep that broke the camel's back. I couldn't stay asleep, I kept waking up. When I did sleep, I had really messed up dreams. The one I remember best started off in the Marriott hotel in Atlanta, trying to give directions to people and then getting a ferris wheel elevator thing that broke down and ended up with me wandering into the latter part of a Friday the 13th movie. After several gruesome deaths, I'm happy to say the movie ended and I survived, though to get out of this house of death I had to walk through a hologram of a spinning Jason Voorhees mask that would have been more cool if, ya know, death hadn't been following me. Once I got out of the house and hit the sidewalk, I was safe.

Best part of the dream? It had end credits. I don't know why Leslie Nielsen and Johnny Depp were listed because I didn't see them and I doubt they'd go slumming in Friday the 13th land. I'm just saying.

I took a nap with no bizarre dreams (and my nap dreams are usually more bizarre than my regular sleep dreams) so I'm hoping that's a good sign.

I really hope I feel better tomorrow. I don't have anything pressing to do; I'm just tired of feeling yucky.

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 had a dream last night (or actually early this morning because I was up until two watching Futurama) that I got engaged to a guy much younger than me.

Guess what the dream means according to one dream site?

That I desire to get engaged.

There's a certain disappointing lack of Freudian creativity there.

I'm just saying.

I've been having wacked out dreams all week, usually more than one a night.

They've included parades, house parties, planes, dirty text messages, cats, elevators, overflowing bathtubs, fireworks, trying to get to school on time, high school math teachers, drum sets, dirty socks, and featured guest appearances by Aaron Douglas, Danny DeVito, Mike Farrell, Michael Weatherly, Sean Murray, and Wil Wheaton (allow me to clarify that no drugs were involved in the making of these subconscious films and I was not consulted on the casting either).

But last night was the ultimate. Last night was zombies. Not the classic slow moving zombies from Night of the Living Dead. Not the scary, fast moving zombies from 28 Days Later. Not even the zombies from Shaun of the Dead.

Nope, what I got was the zombies from Return of the Living Dead. If you've seen this movie, then you're probably giggling and saying, "Send more paramedics". If you haven't, then I have no idea what you do when there's nothing better on the TV.

I'll spare all of the details save this one boggling part. We decide our best bet is to fly away, so our little group gets on a plane. This very nice British guy and I go to check out the cockpit to find it's occupied by two talking skeletons. I turn to find that my companion has been attacked by two zombies and one of them rips his arm off at the elbow.

Horrible, right?

Yeah, except he keeps making polite conversation with the zombies while they're trying to eat him.

I look back at the skeleton pilots (who were probably doing schtick, I don't remember), look back at the Brit, and he's fine. The attacking zombies are gone, he's still polite, and he's duct taped his arm back on.

Feel free to reread that last bit as many times as necessary.

Apparently, my subconscious was just trying to reassure me that yes, duct tape really can fix anything.

Could you imagine what I'd come up with if I were on drugs?

The sleep I got last night didn't really feel like sleep. I woke up feeling like I hadn't even napped. But I've functioned surprisingly well today.

I know I must have gotten some decent sleep because I did have one dream. It involved dr_funbags going to Chicago to see the Angels play the Tigers (why they were doing it in Chicago, I do not know) and I invited her to come stay at my house for a day or two to hang out.

Cool, right?

Except I already had like six people staying at my house so I was trying to arrange everyone so no one would have to sleep in the bathtub. Then I was trying to figure out how to get a hold of one of my friends because he was going to Chicago and I wanted to tag along and have him take me to pick up dr_funbags.

All in all, I kinda came off as a douche in that dream.

And I never made it to Chicago. Sorry about that, Jenn.