Breathing Words

Or perhaps it should be “After the Mdinight Coffee.” I need to stop drinking that stuff so late. It’s really messing up my sleep schedule!

And so it is that I am now awake at 5:45AM, a mere five hours after I went to bed, typing blindly (didn’t bother to put on my glasses) in the dark (the den light is visible from our bedroom) because of this absurd dream I had which was no doubt a result of too much coffee (and a glazed donut) too late in the evening.

Ahhhh… thank goodness for the zoom feature on browsers. At 200% I can now see my words. Never mind that my glasses are only about 25 paces away. Besides, I’m not planning on staying up. To get my glasses would somehow imply that I’m awake and alert. And that, I assure you, I am not. If this were pen and paper, you’d see how often I have pressed the backspace. I even just added the “you” after “assure” because I had forgotten it on first go. Not that this is some sort of second draft. I don’t edit my blog that conscientously (okay, for certain, that’s spelled wrong, but I can’t see and am a little wonky), only as I write. See, I’m not even going to bother correcting conscientiously. Still wrong? Eh, whatever.

Anyway, so my dream was about a bunch of friends going to this exclusive party. One of the people who worked at this club was a spouse of one of our friends, and wasn’t privy to the fact that a party was being thrown until we all showed up. She wasn’t happy about working the front door while the rest of us got in, but gave a good show of it. While we were milling about, waiting for our host to make his little welcome speech, an odd homage video played on the stage for us. There was a subtle joke made at the expense of our friend’s spouse (the one working) and another friend leaned over and said, “Didn’t you have beef with her?” I noticed the girl in question standing nearby and didn’t want to cause any drama so I merely shook my head no and returned to watching the video.

Lunchtime came around, and I decided to pop back to the apartment because I felt my t-shirt and jeans weren’t sexy enough for the club. I asked my roommate if she wanted me to pick anything up for her, and she told me to look for her bottle of warm liquor in her room.

I began jogging back to the apartment and was snubbed by a humvee filled with army men that I had tried to flag down. It’s hot running in jeans! And the apartment was only a block away! But they didn’t care.

Two businessmen who had raced by me in their white luxury cars were suddenly standing beside me. They held cards in their hands, one side green and one side red. The one who had green upturned won the burger. The other man, far more gracious,  said, “Maybe tomorrow.” The winner smiled smugly and walked around the corner before the loser turned to me and raised his eyebrows. I was standing at the winner’s car, and his door was unlocked, and there on the passenger seat sat the burger (in a white paper baggie). The loser gave me a wicked smile, and I happily reached in and grabbed the bag. We made a dash for my apartment, just around the corner where the winner had gone, and were in the lobby before the winner realized what had happened and stormed in, asking “Is that mine!?” The loser tried to appease him by giving him another identical bag, but the winner wouldn’t be swayed.

I scrambled into the elevator, trying to remember where I lived and getting off on the wrong floor. In the meantime, the loser was fending off the winner, and I finally found my room on the seventh floor. 714, if it’s of any interest to you. I slammed the door just as the winner reached me. His hand clawed under my door and I kept screaming at him, “I’m going to call security!”

And I did.

I began to scream, “Security! Security! Get this Asian man!” (He was Asian.)

And the loser had caught up and was grappling with him outside the door and said in a muffled voice, “Not this Asian man!” (He was Asian too.)

And I screamed, “Not the one in the white button down shirt!”

Well, somehow, security must have come and hauled the winner away because I opened the door and stepped outside to find the loser beaming at me.

He began to praise me in a just-drank-a-love-potion-and-is-obsessed kind of way, and suddenly the entire fiasco became a Sunday comic strip with the punchline being, “It never ends! Even Marx couldn’t escape, how can you!”

So, what do you think? Should I brew up some coffee and think more on this?