Little Miss Muffintop

I believe in Sandman. Morpheus, Lord of Dreams (I heart Daniel the mostest, though I do have a great fondness for Destruction) the Neil Gaiman creation, not Wesley Dodds the DC Golden Age crime fighter or William Baker the Marvel villain. I used to talk about my dreams and I used to post about my dreams at livejournal, but I think dreams only have real significance to the people dreaming them. And maybe to the people being dreamt about, but only if something really unusual happens to them.

I’ve acted on some things I’ve dreamt about in the past and ultimately it turned out to be a mistake. I’m a big supporter of dreaming and “following your dream” but not in the literal sense. Me, I prefer to listen to the little voice in my head and not Lord Morpheus. He may entertain but he’s no life coach, that’s for sure. My most recurring dream is about my long lost friend Terry Prescott. In my dreams, I usually apologize to him or he apologizes to me and we’re friends again. When I wake up, I thank ole Morpheus for those dreams because they mean a whole hell of a lot to me.

This past week I’ve had the most surrealistic nightmare I’ve ever had in my life and I also had an amazing dream about Jason Bateman. For really no one’s sake but my own I’m going to quickly mention them but I certainly expect no one to give them a second glance, let alone a first.

Most of my nightmares are about tornadoes, tidal waves, being chased, or being chased by vampires. I’ve long since given up trying to decipher any grand meaning from them, but I have had to get a night guard from my dentist from all the teeth clenching I do at night. In the early morning hours on Tuesday, I had a nightmare like you see in stupid horror movies. I’ve never had a nightmare like this one. I was me. In my bed. At exactly the time on the clock. And a noise or something woke me up and in the dark there was a girl with long straight black hair kneeling at my bedside. The green light from the clock radio shone in her hair and the bedroom was exactly as it is in wakingdom. “Wake up, wake up. Hello? Wake up,” she said in this whispery, slithery voice. And as I woke up in my dream, I realized she was holding tight to both my wrists. I felt Ross sleeping next to me and I was so terrified I couldn’t move or speak. I tried to speak but nothing came out. I couldn’t even move a foot to nudge Ross awake. After a few seconds I jerked my wrists and I woke myself up to find the bedroom exactly like it was in my nightmare, minus the black haired girl with glasses. I just lay there in the dark with my hands tucked under my butt listening as hard as I could, convinced she was hiding under the bed. If you’re still here reading, my friends, let me tell you how much that sucked.

Last night, though, I had the sweetest dream about Jason Bateman. My favorite boy dreams are not sex dreams or naked boy dreams, but dreams when you’re just starting to do that little dance you do when you really like a boy and they really like you back. When you get the feeling in your stomach and your butterflies have butterflies. It’s fleeting but so fucking wonderful. So in my dream, Jason Bateman and the whole cast of Arrested Development were putting on an impromptu live show in a cabin at a camp somewhere and I was there right in front in a great big overstuffed loveseat. Between Act II and III as designated on a chalkboard, I caught Jason’s eye and he smiled at me. Then words were exchanged and misheard and I remember pretending to be insulted because he was joking about about my mother’s vagina (!!!!!) and he laughed and I laughed and after the show we went outside on the front porch of the cabin and just as he was about to kiss me, I fucking woke up.

So yeah I sleep through scary girls with glasses holding my wrists but I wake up when I’m just about to kiss Jason Bateman who is ohmygod SO cute. Let’s just leave my mother’s vagina out of this and never speak of it again, shall we? That would be great.