There are a lot of things that people really have no business sharing with other people.
Colds, for example.
And Social Security numbers.
And recipes for liver meringue pie.
To which list I have always tended to add things like vacation photos and "cute" stories about the kids and overheated descriptions of "the weirdest dream I had last night!" Such things simply depend way too much on subjective associations and feelings that others can't possibly share. No matter how much these things may mean to the person compelled to share them, they're almost always tedious at best for others. At worst, they're like sitting at a bus stop as the two people sitting next to you slowly graduate from speaking baby talk to making out.
Well, this entry is a description of the weirdest dream I had last night. I don't think it's particularly overheated, but then I wouldn't, would I? The self-deluded teller of these tales never does.
Run while you can!
Ok. Now that I'm alone, I can safely record the details here just so I can get them out of my head and move on to more productive activities, like lunch.
As is often the case in my dreams, I was merely an observer, a camera, a fly-on-the-wall - not a participant. I assume this is because almost all my dreams occur while I'm asleep and I'm simply too tired to be bothered to do anything more strenuous.
This particular dream was set in a large high school conference room or library. The US Supreme Court was seated at a table. Apparently the justices had decided that it was good to get out of Washington once in a while and conduct its affairs in places where normal Americans could easily observe.
Well, what those few dozen Americans who bothered to come to this high school on this day observed was Chief Justice John Roberts confessing that he often got very sleepy during sessions and nodded off. To help solve this problem he'd hired an aide whose job was to stand in the back of the chamber (or in this case, the large high school conference room or library) and watch for the first sign that Roberts was getting sleepy - at which point the aide pulled out and shook a teddy bear with huge googly eyes. Roberts, seeing this bear, would either force himself to be more awake or call a recess before he lost consciousness. Problem solved!
Everyone seemed mightily impressed as the aide nodded and waved and displayed the bear after being pointed out by Roberts as he lurked even then in the back of the meeting space.
Apparently this was exactly the kind of wisdom all those present expected in a chief justice.
Roberts then announced that the question-and-answer portion of the program would soon begin, but first he asked for five M&Ms. When someone gave him the five M&Ms, he carefully placed them on the seats of the five suddenly absent justices and announced that these M&Ms were actually Rockettes. He then went on and on about how much he had always loved the Rockettes, and that the five very special members now seated before us would soon be dancing and kicking up their heels for the enjoyment of all those present.
As Roberts continued to praise the attributes and qualities of the "Rockettes" in increasingly offensive sexist terms, a lady in the audience got up and started to storm out. Just as she reached the door the justice who looked like a cross between Ruth Bader Ginsburg and Granny from "The Beverly Hillbillies" loudly demanded to know if she was prejudiced against Christians.
"Yes," the woman turned and unapologetically declared. "Yes, I am."
"Oh, well, the only reason I asked," Justice Granny said, "is because my husband is, too, and I thought you could be his companion while we're in town. I only ask that you and he don't run off and found your own colony!"
This seems to have set off a general hullabaloo among the others present. One woman ran out clutching the folded up US flag that had adorned the casket of a relative killed in Iraq after she thought that another woman present hadn't shown the respect towards it that she should have.
It was at this point that I myself half woke up, convinced that the man in the old "Time to make the donuts" commercials was picking my pocket.
What I was doing in my own dream, I don't know. As I said above, I almost never appear in my own dreams. Why I should appear in this one as a crime victim, I don't know. I would have much preferred to have stayed and watched the Rockettes dance, or maybe eat them, but... it seems to be an ironclad rule that I never get what I want in my dreams.
That's it. I wish I had a stronger ending for this entry, but... I guess I'm not going to get that, either.
At least it didn't melt in my mind before I could spit it out.