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Little Movies in Your Sleep

By Tater Barley Banks | Comment Diversions | November 21, 2009 | Comments ()


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So four of us were on a road trip to a concert and had a couple hours in the van to kill, and for no good reason we started talking about our dreams. Not our aspirations, silly, the little movies that play in your head at night.

I told about the one I'd had that day: We went to the airport to see Taterdaughter off on a trip somewhere, but she wasn't in a plane, she was in a rocket. And at liftoff the rocket got maybe 10 feet off the pad and started tilting toward the right, whereupon the engines quit, the rocket crumpled nearly in half and fell to the ground. "Jesus!" I said. But as the dust cleared somehow I could see inside the ship, and I could see that Taterdaughter was OK, and one of the flight crew in uniform was helping her out of her seat.

That was about it. Everyone else had similarly pointless recent dreams, some kinda funny, some not, but nothing that had much coherence or resonance for the rest of us.

Until I said, "I have this reoccurring one where I'm trying to get somewhere ..." And the other guys all said, "Yeah! I have that one too!"

Sometimes I'm driving, trying to get to point B, but I end up driving in circles. But most often in this type of dream, I'm in a college dorm and I have to get to my room to get something for my next class, and I'm already 10 minutes late, but the elevator won't or can't stop at my floor. So I have to get out on a different floor and walk but I still can't find a way to get to my room ...

And then I look down and I don't have any pants on.

So, yeah, it's a nightmare. For anyone who has to look at me with my pants off.

Today's diversion, obviously, is about nightmares. What haunts your dreams? What chases you again and again? Has a movie you've seen while awake ever given you a real nightmare when you were asleep?

Another therapy session brought to you with

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TATER BARLEY BANKS is not to be trusted. He probably makes up everything he writes about himself, especially the stuff about living in West Virginia. Don't be fooled. In truth, he lives in Pajibaland, where he speaks gibberish as , (TCFKAB), spends his time sitting on a park bench, eyeing little girls with bad intent, and is developing a 25-letter alphabet, now that his key doesn't work. He has no blog, no FaceBook page and no MySpace page, so don't try to find him.



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