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For the record: turkey bacon is NOT bacon. I'm not sure what it is. I mean, I know what it is -- it's processed, mechanically seperated and smoked turkey. But, it ain't bacon. Bacon is nature's candy. Turkey bacon is nature's carob bar.

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I have a love/hate relationship with my dreams.

If you've been following this blog for awhile, or if you've been perusing the archives, you'll know that I'll talk about my dreams every now and again. Not dreams as in "hopes and..." but dreams in shit that goes on in my mind during REM sleep.

My dreams tend to be... odd. I don't put much stock into dream interpretation, but, I've looked for 'symbols' that appear in my dreams in dream dictionaries, and, damned if any one of them is there. I've had messianic dreams (swear to God, oddly enough, that it's true), I've had 'predictive' dreams (I swear to you that I predicted Jim Henson's death in a dream), and I've had dreams that are just plain odd (Running away from the Russian Mafia with Richard Pryor).

My dreams are vivid, but never lucid. I don't control my dreams -- I'm just there for the ride. Sometimes the ride has sexy results (stuff that would make Larry Flynt blush), but, usually, they're just strange.

My most recent oddball dream involved a bunch of my friends going to a high school football game, only to find out that a rival gang wanted to rumble with us. We knew who the rival gang members were because they all wore black bandanas over their faces.

Somehow, I got separated from my crew, and had to fend for myself in my house, which was surrounded by teenage thugs. Instead of kicking ass, I called 911 on my cell phone.

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Hmmm... I could have sworn I was going somewhere with that previous bit. False alarm.

Wait -- I remember. I love my dreams while they're happening, but I hate them because they're not real. And they're so much more exciting than reality.

Sorry to have wasted everyone's time there.

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posted by Grant Bennett at 1:13 AM