Strange days indeed…
Or dreams, as the case may be. Much of this morning’s dream is already fading, but there are still bits and pieces left that are giving me a head scratch chuckle.
The location was our old house in Hermann, Missouri. Jack’s garage band was back where the garage used to be, but now there was a full on stage with lighting, mics, speakers, the whole nine yards. Jack had a white and grey peppered beard and his very first guitar in his hands. He had a class in front of him and was teaching them the proper way to roll across stage with a guitar and then to dive off the stage into a crowd.
In the kitchen was Gordon Ramsey, the mad chef from Hell’s Kitchen. He was yelling and berating anyone that walked through the kitchen, but no one was paying him any attention. Will Turner was yelling at Jack Sparrow because Sparrow didn’t look like Sparrow, but was Johnny Depp, and Depp had dropped his cigarette into Will Turner’s spaghetti sauce. Ramsey called them both “nancy boys!” and Depp, now Sparrow, threw Ramsey out the front door, where he fell a long way down into the water.
A huge thump startled everyone and the house, stage, kitchen, Jack and his class, were closed up within the pages of a very huge book.
I think there’s a reason I sometimes wake up more tired than I was when I went to sleep.
Tags: Dreams
> Quite a few years ago now, my great-grandmother went missing for a couple of days. A neighbor checked on her the third day and found her stuck between her bed and chest-of-drawers. Once she’d recovered (she was nearly 90 years old and rather frail), she confessed that she fell out of bed in the midst of a dream that she was helping Matt Dillon (of Gunsmoke) fight it out in a fist-fight with the bad guys.