BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

Good Morning…

I need help. No, not that kind of help. I’m nowhere near as insane as I pretend to be…well, maybe…if you count that incident in…oh, never mind. I promised the other parties involved I wouldn’t talk about that outside of therapy. But, anyway…

What I need help with is dream interpretation. Now, normally I am pretty good at that sort of thing. I can tag the easy as well as the obscure. And, in this particular incident I am certain I could massage some standard interpretation to fit the events, however the bizarre info dump my subconscious let loose on me last night was so odd that I am not entirely sure it even has an explanation. So, here it is:

I’m at the local airport. Not unusual, because I spend so damn much time there anyway that it seems like my home away from home. Never mind the fact that what I know to be my local STL airport (Lambert, Intl) looks for all the world (in my dream) like the airport in Columbus, OH. (Yeah, I’ve been through that one several times, which probably explains that.)

Anyway, here I am walking through the airport when suddenly I run into William H. Macy and Felicity Huffman. Now, I don’t suppose this is unusual in and of itself, because as I recall they are married to one another. But then, that may have changed, I don’t know. I’m not one for keeping up on the break ups and hook ups in “Hollerwood.”

Of course, it wouldn’t be much of a bizarre dream if that’s all there was to it, correct? Correct. So, Huffman and Macy aren’t just standing there, or strolling along running into dreaming folks. No. In point of fact, they are in front of a newsstand taking turns jumping on an oversized, bizarrely constructed, stagger-pedaled pogo stick. (sorry if that makes no sense, but it was the only way I could think of to explain it. Suffice it to say, it was one weird looking pogo stick)…

Now, if that’s not enough, Macy sees me and motions me over, then completely ignores Huffman, leaving her to bounce around the concourse of the terminal on this pogo-contraption. Suddenly I find that we are sitting in easy chairs near the entrance to the restroom, while Huffman continues to gleefully bounce around the concourse, giggling like a little schoolgirl. At this point Macy and I have said nothing to one another, but now he turns to me and asks me what kind of books I write. I tell him. He gives it a moment of thought and then asks me if I have read his blog. (Hell, I didn’t know he had one)…I tell him no. He then asks me if I have a blog. I say yes. (Now, remember, Huffman is still wreaking havoc with the pogo stick in the background of all of this, but TSA and Airport Security don’t seem to care. They are far more concerned that my wife is a potential terrorist and are searching her luggage. NOTE: Prior to this point in the dream I had no idea my wife was even there.)…So, anyway, Macy gets up to leave without a word, stops, turns and comes back, sits down, and then asks me if my “blog is really intense?”…

Then, I woke up and the coffee wasn’t ready yet.

Needless to say, I am confused. Everything seems to be functioning properly and I do know who the president is (unfortunately), and the day of the week, etc, so I don’t think I had a stroke in my sleep or anything.

Still, this one has me scratching my head.

MR

“Twas the Night Before Christmas, 21^st Century Edition”

Copyright © 2006, M. R. Sellars

Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house,

Not a creature was stirring, not even my spouse.

Her wet stockings were hung in the bathroom with care,

My razor was dull and full of her leg hair.

My wife was nestled all snug in our bed,

While visions of shoe sales danced in her head.

When out in the living room there arose such a clatter,

I sprang from my keyboard to empty my bladder.

And what to my wondering eyes should appear,

But some fat S.O.B. drinking my last beer.

His eyes were unfocused, and his cheeks were a-flush,

I could tell at a glance that Santa was a lush.

His knees how they wobbled as he finished with a slurp,

Then he got up from his chair and let out a burp!

“Hi there, young fella,” he said with a *hic*

“Best get outta my way, I think I’m gonna be sick!”

He rushed to the bathroom and I heard my wife scream,

Seems she was in there and didn’t think this too keen.

What was next to occur was kind of a shock,

I found her pummeling Santa with our new alarm clock!

“Hey honey, chill out!” I said with a start.

“Surely you don’t wanna kill the old fart!”

“Look lady,” Santa cried as he lurched and careened,

“I only got airsick ’cause I forgot my Dramamine!”

“So you’re NOT just some drunk?” I asked as he scratched his crotch.

“Of course not,” he replied, “But I WILL take a Scotch!”

“And to show there’re no hard feelings,” he chortled with glee,

“Tell me what is it you’d like to find under your tree.”

I took a sharp breath, and held it inside,

Santa you fool, you’d better run and hide.

You’ve asked the wrong question, instead of the right,

And now you’re gonna be here the rest of the night.

My wife’s eyes sparkled, teeth showing as she grinned,

And the next thing I knew she had the guy pinned!

Catalogs flew, and flyers they fluttered,

Creating immediately a large pile of clutter.

Santa couldn’t move and his eyes filled with fright,

Seeing her chance my redhead squealed with delight!

“Some diamonds and pearls, from this place and that!

Some pumps and some boots, and maybe a hat!”

She ran down her list in a voice filled with glee,

All I could think was “I’m glad it’s not me!”

Santa wriggled and squirmed as she sat on his chest,

Then he shouted and hollered, “Hey, give it a rest!”

But my wife wasn’t finished, that much I knew,

For she held that elf down and started anew.

“Sapphires and rubies, and rings of white gold,

I don’t even care if they’re new or they’re old!

A black leather jacket and a skirt that goes with it,

Matching gloves and a gift card that spends without limit!

A full length fur coat, synthetic of course,

Hey! Are you taking this down? Don’t make me use force!”

The old guy kept kicking, and somehow broke free,

How he managed to do so was way beyond me.

But my redhead was behind him as he sprang for the door,

While she screamed, “No, don’t leave now, for I want so much more!”

Santa ran through my yard as though he were scared,

And I can’t say I blamed him, for I doubted I’d be spared.

He hollered, as he raced, his words not too thrilling,

In fact I must say they were in all senses chilling.

With what he said, I had no choice but to agree,

For she was all wound up and he was leaving her with me.

Now here’s the last thing I heard, as he fled from this strife,

“I’d stay for that scotch, but I’m afraid of your wife!”