Weird confused dreams last night, punctuated by a few awakenings. I was alone in Roseholme Cottage, so probably more alert to noises in the night than usual. I usually filter out weather noises pretty good, and unless one of the cats actually breaks something or starts horking, they don't wake me either.
Most of the night was in that weird dream version of Appalachian ridge-and-valley topography, a lot of it very similar to the area around Castle Frostbite, running around with this bunch of guerrilla dudes who had these elaborate bunkhouses in caves. They weren't actually doing anything of a guerrilla nature, other than furtively living in caves and running around being all guerrilla-y, and they were trying to avoid Obama.
And by that, I don't mean they were trying to avoid the might of some tyrannical government or hypothetical UN invasion force, I mean they were hiding from this one middle-aged black dude who was dressed inexplicably like an assistant manager from my first job, in tie and shirtsleeves, who kept sticking his head in caves from which they'd just splitskied out the back way.
Somehow me and Bobbi and MattG got separated from the main group during one of these hasty evacuations (complicated by the need to break down all the bunk beds and hammocks, because I guess they would give away the fact that people had been there in a way that the artificially-enlarged cave with the neatly-packed dirt floor wouldn't) and, stumbling around in the woods we got turned around and wound up back at the empty cave we'd just left, only there were slavers in it now! We got the jump on 'em and freed their captives, and their leader was this weird guy who claimed he was Obama, except he was obviously in blackface and had a ridiculous fake glued-on prophet beard that left a big spot not covered by makeup when I yanked it off.
Then some other stuff happened, but I woke up because the phone was ringing.
(Sausage, black olives, and feta cheese on a thin crust, heavy on the crushed red pepper sprinkles, just in case you wanted the recipe.)
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Thunderbolts? My ears are burning...
ReplyDeleteThunderbolts have nothing on cat horking, as far as dream instigation goes.
ReplyDeleteCat horking just has that, well, personal, I guess, sense of drama to it that makes one wonder what is about to land on one's face.
Are your dreams in color or black and white?
ReplyDeleteGerry
Pizza is the best dream food.
ReplyDeleteCheck the basement, mine got flooded in Missouri during the night from the same storm. Cat stayed real close during the thunder and lighting, dogs just howled.
ReplyDeleteAwwww, dream Obama was just looking for A Few Good Votes for his next election cycle.
ReplyDelete"If you like your cave, you can keep your cave..."
Triple pepperoni pizza does it for me!!!!
ReplyDeleteMerle
So when you yanked Biden's beard off (who else would try Obama in blackface?), did he shout, "Oh mama mia, mama mia! Mama mia, let me go!"
ReplyDeleteThat would have been the finest touch.
Found your reference to "ridge and valley" topography interesting; my geography prof at U-of-T pronounced his invention of that physiographic region in East Tennessee way back in 1976.
ReplyDeleteI imagine being pursued by Obama is an experience comparable to being pursued by the Burger King. Theoretically benign but also horrifying.
ReplyDeleteAre you SURE you aren't taking that Malaria prevention drug? The last time I had so many so bizarre and vivid and memorable dreams, I was.
ReplyDeleteChicken sausage down under does that for me... NOT eating anymore of that stuff... EVAR!!!
ReplyDeleteYou haven't just quit drinking, have you?
ReplyDelete