Sunday, April 23, 2006

American Dreams?

Hill, FaithI don’t remember many dreams, though this one a couple nights ago was weird enough. I really can’t remember why, but early on in this one, I found a hand gun of some sort. For some strange reason, I decided to pick it up and put it in my front-right pocket, doing my best to keep it concealed despite the fact the handle was sticking out a bit.

Later I walk in through the front door of what was supposed to be a friend’s house, though I honestly thought it was indistinguishable from any other generic suburban home. Inside I find Toby Keith and Tim McGraw sitting at a table playing Texas Hold ‘Em and drinking brews. Funny thing is that I really don’t listen country much at all, and if I do, it’s usually Waylon Jennings, Willie Nelson, or Hank Williams, Jr.; the old shit, you know? Well, I just sat down without saying a word and listened to the two country singers talk about aliases they’d used in the past when booked into hotels on tours. After a while I began hoping that Shania Twain and/or Faith Hill would appear naked in this wacky dream, but no such luck. For some reason, Jack’s dog, Boden appeared and starts growling at my, his stare fixated on my front-right pocket. I then noticed that the two singers also had their attentions on me while reaching for shotguns that I don’t remember leaning on their chairs. I get up slowly with my hands up, and make my way out of the house without any shots fired.

After leaving the house I’m surprised to hear my phone ring. I pull it out of my pocket and groan in disappointment when I find it’s my RAZR (I have multiple phones). The caller’s my old buddy Chris, whom I’d just spoken to for the first time in over a year a day or two ago. He said he was holed up in a classroom and needed some help. I make my way to the school he’s in, which was HHS, just all gray. While sneaking through the halls while communicating with Bluetooth headsets (something I don’t own) and as I pass by Mr. Means’ class/lab I hear him whisper, “I shit, I’m about to be caught.” I remember recalling being confused about being able to open the door without being heard. I kicked the guy in the back of his left knee, caught his head between my left arm and ribs under my armpit as he buckled backwards and stabbed my Applegate combat knife at an angle which the blade went under the guy’s ribs and into those vitals protected underneath. He struggled a little but eventually stopped moving. I set him down quietly and crept behind the big table at the front of the class/lab used for demonstrations and then whispered into the Bluetooth headset to see how Chris was doing. Before getting any sort of response, my alarm goes off and it’s 4:35 AM and time for me to go to the gym. Weird ass dream.
Song of the Moment: “Welcome Home (Sanitarium)” by Metallica

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