Sunday, August 25, 2013

Cheese Dreams

We all have them. Don't look at me like that. You've had one at least once.

I'm talking about Cheese Dreams. (Yes, those words placed together require capitalisation).  You know, where you eat a load of cheese (usually brie, or blue or something smelly and strong and DELICIOUS) after 8pm and then go to sleep and have really vivid, quite freaky dreams, about the most random events.

Just for shits'n'giggles, allow me to share last night's Cheese Dream with you.

I was on a train with a guy I met in NYC a few years ago.  (In real life, we became mates, nothing more.) Anyway, in my dream we were on our way to the movies and there was a guy sitting opposite us who had a briefcase open on his lap. We were pulling into a station, when he closed his briefcase, reached next to him for his carry-on-sized suitcase and slotted one side of the briefcase into the suitcase, extended the handle and proceeded to leave the train.  But there was another wheeled-suitcase still sitting there where he'd been and all of a sudden there was a woman with him. I decided to be a good citizen, and jumped off the train with the suitcase, calling out to them that they'd forgotten their bag. They were talking, so took a while to acknowledge me, but then claimed the bag wasn't theirs - they'd never seen it and it had been sitting on the train when they got on earlier. At this point I turned to get back on the train, but the doors slid shut and it pulled away from the platform leaving me stranded without handbag, wallet or phone (and a friend who didn't even appear to notice that I was no longer seated next to him).  I turned around again and started berating the couple for ruining my date (yes, suddenly this guy was my boyfriend and we were on a date); but they'd disappeared, so I looked around for somewhere to leave the bag - a lost property counter or the like.  By this stage I'd worked out that I was in Paddington Station in London, and I made my way over to the customer service counter, only to be redirected to what can only be described as a market stall selling animal hides. The woman at the counter, who smelled rather strongly of pot, gave me a lecture about never touching abandoned luggage, then proceeded to open it and extract a load of lacy Victoria's Secret-style underwear.

The next thing I knew I was at home (my home here in Melbourne) and was about to go and lie down (being worn out from having walked all the way home from the station, I presume... I didn't have any money, or a phone to call anyone, plus I'd realised that I didn't know ANYONE'S phone numbers off by heart like I used to when I was in my early 20s, so I don't know how else I would've managed to get home); when there was a half-buzz at my door. 

(Incidentally, the buzzer into our apartment block is only half-buzzing at the moment, so it was all a bit too life-like.)

So, anyway, I answered the door and in walks my friend, carrying my handbag and telling me he'd figured out what was going on and thought I'd come home eventually, so went and saw the movie without me.  (To which I say hrmph. How rude. I'd never date a bloke who did that to me.)

Next thing I know, I'm taking a miniature pet pig for a beach walk.  Yes. A PIG. The pig was super cute - white with black spots and her name was Lily. She was on a leash and would come into the water, but wouldn't actually swim. She'd just sit there, with the water over her head, and look up with these mournful eyes... apparently able to breathe underwater.  Facially, she looked just like the pig equivalent of a friend's French Bulldog, who coincidentally, is named Lily.  I'm sure there's a connection there.  Anyway, I took Lily-the-pig out of the water to dry her off and next thing we were in a school, attempting to fit six identical, real-life Barbie dolls into a locker.  Well, I was trying to fit these Barbies into a locker - Lily was sitting beside me snuffling and snorting.  Let's just say, shit was getting weird by this point, so it's just as well it was then that I woke up.

I grabbed my trusty notebook, which sits on my bedside table and started scribbling it all down.  Of course, given I was in a suddenly-awoken state, my handwriting is almost illegible, but I think I got it all.

So... yeah.

Cheese Dreams.

Freaking me out since, well... always.  

What's your freaky Cheese Dream story?

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