Lately I have been keeping a dream journal. This is mostly because I wake up 5 or 6 times a night, and I wanted to know why, so I thought maybe if I wrote down what was going on when I woke up, I could figure out why I wasn’t able to sleep. Of course, the acts of waking up, flipping on the light, and searching for a pen and paper to write down the dream are all conducive to jolting me thoroughly awake, which hasn’t really been so helpful. I have taken to writing in the dark on Kleenexes from the box on my nightstand. Again, this has not proven to be ideal. Still, I am learning some things that are seemingly important and revealing. For example, it seems I am overly concerned with the possibility that there is a rising trend among my friends and acquaintances to keep wild, vicious animals as pets. On Monday, at approximately 4:13 in the morning, I dreamed the adorable adopetd wolf cub of my dream neighbor leapt over the fence to rip my arms off. My dream neighbor was Paul Rudd, and I’m pretty sure he is sweet on me, but that has nothing to do with the dream. On his way over the fence, he- the wolf, not Paul Rudd- morphed from a fuzzy, cheerful furball of a cub into an enormous bear who apparantly was offended by my appendages. Evidently the grizzly had never heard of my right to bare arms, and his huge, razor-sharp bear claws (Yum!) left me only a gushing, bloody shoulder stump before I woke up, sweaty and panicked.
During the course of the week I was attacked by a squirrel (just because they are small doesn’t mean that they are not wild or vicious) that my friend E. was nursing like a baby (Gross!), and I ran screaming from a nutria that was living in Paul Rudd’s pool. Paul Rudd had invited me over for a little night swim – told ya he likes me! In the dark, I mistook the rodent for a floatie. HORRIFYING, I tell ya! Really put the kibosh on any sweet, sweet liquid lovin’ for me and Paul Rudd. Then last night, my friend Mary brought her pet cougar over to watch “The Biggest Loser” with us. Having learned a thing or two over the last couple nights, I was adamant about letting her know where I stand on the wild, vicious animals as pets thing. ” Number One, ” I said, “your cougar scares me. He’s big and sinewy, and his breath smells like carcass. He likes to play that game “swallow-your-head” all the time, and I’m just not into it. And B, he takes MASSIVE dumps!” I pointed over to my king-sized waterbed, where Mary had spread pounds of kitty litter. The cougar dropped a steamy load, growled, and cuffed me on the back of the neck, knocking me into the closet. Nightmare #543, right?
When I told Mary about the dream, she said, “You don’t have a waterbed. Look at you, dreaming about cougars and getting a little of the motion of the ocean in your bed! It’s not the size of the ship, know what I mean?”
I had no idea as to what she meant.
“You ARE the cougar, get it?! It’s summer time, and you’re a hot, older lady on the prowl! RAWRRR!”
Wow. Hot, older lady. Like Carole Channing? Joanne Whorley? Mrs. Roper? Great.
So what have we learned here?
Number 1: I love Paul Rudd, and he loves me. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XFXm4qj54hU
Number 2: Wild animals should be left in the wild. You can never train them, they will never be your friends, and they will always want to eat you.
“Hush your mouth, trained white tiger! I am master of the cats, and I know you are my friend!” Roy
Number 3: Sometimes even domesticated animals, or even good friends should be left in the wild. Sometimes so-called friends who call you “older” should not be allowed to watch quality television programming and eat Tofutti Cuties in your house.
Number 4: I think Paul Rudd is younger than I am. Maybe I could be a cougar. RAWWRRR!
Pretty hot, non?!
I’ll keep you posted on any other dreamemories as they develop. I leave you know with some words to ponder, digest, and finally, to live with, by the reknowned psychedelic philosopher, Steven Tyler:
I know what nobody knows
Where it comes and where it goes
I know its everybodys sin
You got to lose to know how to win
Think about it.
The picture of Paul Rudd disturbs me. More importantly, I trouble finishing the 2d paragraph because of the constantly changing picture in the right-hand margin. What's up with that? Interesting, but sure makes it a pain in my wazoo to actually read.
Cougars are funny.
Focus my friend, focus! The ever-changing picture is my new high tech gadget. It's a survey of all the stuff people at blogspot are loading up to their public blogs. The other one is from flickr, and if you are so inclined, you can reload and reload until you get a picture you like.
What is disturbing about a man fantasizing about his true love while lounging naked in his boudoir? Rudd's a stud. Don't be disturbed by your feelings! You can't help them!
hey cougar have you remebered your roots!??
I would never breast feed a squirrel. However, I like to think that I personally birthed Gus, Greta and Lola from my loins. That is why they are perfect in every way. Duh!
Also, Paul Rudd is smokin hot but his loin in that picture is not very flattering. Ever heard of photoshop?!
No fair. You say only you and your mom read this thing. Not true. You are fabulous.