When I was a kid, I had a recurring dream—which is disconcerting enough on its own—where I was trapped in a town taken over by killer robots. Apparently, my Skynet fascination began early. Anyway, the dream was always exactly the same: I ran about the town, terrified and hiding from the killer robots as best I could until I was rescued by my (biological) father. In later versions of the dream, I was rescued by my adoptive father. Makes perfect sense though, a kid dreaming about fears and being rescued by someone who makes her feel safe. But a lot of dreams and nightmares aren’t so easily dissected and some of them linger in our minds for years, leaving us to wonder, “What the hell does it mean?”
I’ve always been a person who has vivid dreams, although I can happily say that the frequency of the nightmarish ones has diminished. There is, though, this one dream I had many years ago, that I still find myself trying to understand. Am I crazy? (Certainly.) A closet psychopath? (Don’t think so.) Was I on drugs? (Refuse to answer on the grounds…) Who knows where these things come from? Anyway, here’s the dream; analyze or ridicule me if you must, I can take it (and dish it back).
I was hanging out in my apartment and I smelled something burning. So I went into the kitchen, walked over to the stove and opened the oven door. Out jumped my cat—yes, from a hot oven—and he was in a most peculiar state. Smoke was billowing from his back, which was split open and…are you sure you’re ready for this? Sitting inside the middle of kitty’s smoking, flayed open back was a hot dog, in a bun, with condiments (mustard and relish, I think?). Despite his…er…predicament(?), kitty seemed to be just fine. He ran around the room and *poof* I woke up. Yes, I know, clearly there is something wrong with me. But don’t pretend you aren’t just as forked up. You’ve had some inexplicable, freaky-deaky dreams too. Share them, so we can all be even more frightened of each other than we already are.
P.S. OMG, this is unbelievable. This morning after writing, I went for a walk/jog (okay, okay, there may have been more walking than jogging.) and I was thinking about my dream. I’ve related it many times to many people and it always ended the same way, “There’s something seriously wrong with you. You’re a closet serial killer. Remind me to lock up all the knives at night.” But guess what? I’m not frakking crazy. After all these years, it came to me while on my walk, clear as day: A wiener. A kitty. One inside the other. Smoke. My dream was about having hot sex. Smoking hot, safe (with condiments) sex. Holy shit. Pajibatherapy, people: it’s free.
Now, please to let us analyze you.