Dreams.
For centuries, people have ascribed various interpretions to them. They foretell the future. They reveal our innermost aspirations. They're the sleeping brain's method of assimilating the day's experiences.
Well, I had a strange dream Friday night that illustrates the latter. Here are the collection of relatively insignificant events that happened on Friday.
* Timothy got called into work for a few hours on his day off and wound up working a sixteen hour day. He's a culinary arts student and a banquet cook. Earlier that day, he and I were discussing the type of home he'd like to one day buy, and he described the residences of two of the chefs that mentor him.
* I received an invite to a home party.
* I polished off the remaining pepper jack cheese.
* I briefly co-miserated with a fellow Once Upon a Time fan about the unfairness of waiting three weeks for another episode. For those unfamiliar with the show, all the residents are fairy tale characters trapped in Storybrooke, Maine, a place where no one enters and leaves.
* The principal of the small school--the one for which Christopher is building the computers--called to discuss some positive publicity to offset some negative publicity the school received. The principal said one of the moms brought it to her attention, but that mother was too shy to discuss it directly with me.
* Some friends paid an unexpected visit, and we ended up briefly discussing food and drug allergies (I have both, as well as asthma and chronic hives).
* I worked waaaay too hard and waaaay too late and then unwittingly watched a video that was a little too violent for my tastes.
* I fell asleep while texting a friend.
Okay, now for the dream:
I dreamt Timothy and I were inside this lavish home belonging to one of the chefs. They had just prepared a huge ham loaf with a pepper jack filling. Timothy was trying to persuade me to try some, but I'm paranoid because, since it was prepared entirely from scratch, there was no ingredient list for me to check. As Timothy keeps reassuring me, I leave the room to scrounge around in the chef's garbage anyway, convinced there's a label somewhere. Of course, I don't find one.
I return to the main room in time to see the chef stuff the body of a colleague into a garbage bag. Because this second chef had unwittingingly discovered the recipe to the ham and pepper jack loaf, the chef said he had to kill him. Besides, the recipe actually belonged to a huge corporation, and if word leaked out that this second guy knew it...well, the chef said it was better for his colleague to die at his hands than face the tortuous death of the corporation.
Unfortunately, since I had witnessed the death, I now would not be allowed to live. That's when I woke up the first time, flat on my back, heart racing, glad it was a dream. Unfortunately for me again, I went right back to the dream.
This time, it had changed a bit. I was living in a small town ruled by this corporation, which is now revealed to be Avon. The feminine powers that be had set an execution date. No one in this town ever challenged the decisions of the authorities because it would mean death for all and knowledge of our existence would then be known by the outside world.
In desperation, I texted my friend for help. He said that if I was scheduled to die, I'd better do it. My life was not work risking the safety of everyone else, including him. As I was standing in front of a public bathroom mirror brushing my hair, the shy woman next to me decided the town's policies were unfair, my upcoming execution was plain wrong, and that she was going to the media with the story, even if it cost her life. That was the only way, she felt to stop the ongoing persecutions.
And then the phone rang and woke me up.
For centuries, people have ascribed various interpretions to them. They foretell the future. They reveal our innermost aspirations. They're the sleeping brain's method of assimilating the day's experiences.
Well, I had a strange dream Friday night that illustrates the latter. Here are the collection of relatively insignificant events that happened on Friday.
* Timothy got called into work for a few hours on his day off and wound up working a sixteen hour day. He's a culinary arts student and a banquet cook. Earlier that day, he and I were discussing the type of home he'd like to one day buy, and he described the residences of two of the chefs that mentor him.
* I received an invite to a home party.
* I polished off the remaining pepper jack cheese.
* I briefly co-miserated with a fellow Once Upon a Time fan about the unfairness of waiting three weeks for another episode. For those unfamiliar with the show, all the residents are fairy tale characters trapped in Storybrooke, Maine, a place where no one enters and leaves.
* The principal of the small school--the one for which Christopher is building the computers--called to discuss some positive publicity to offset some negative publicity the school received. The principal said one of the moms brought it to her attention, but that mother was too shy to discuss it directly with me.
* Some friends paid an unexpected visit, and we ended up briefly discussing food and drug allergies (I have both, as well as asthma and chronic hives).
* I worked waaaay too hard and waaaay too late and then unwittingly watched a video that was a little too violent for my tastes.
* I fell asleep while texting a friend.
Okay, now for the dream:
I dreamt Timothy and I were inside this lavish home belonging to one of the chefs. They had just prepared a huge ham loaf with a pepper jack filling. Timothy was trying to persuade me to try some, but I'm paranoid because, since it was prepared entirely from scratch, there was no ingredient list for me to check. As Timothy keeps reassuring me, I leave the room to scrounge around in the chef's garbage anyway, convinced there's a label somewhere. Of course, I don't find one.
I return to the main room in time to see the chef stuff the body of a colleague into a garbage bag. Because this second chef had unwittingingly discovered the recipe to the ham and pepper jack loaf, the chef said he had to kill him. Besides, the recipe actually belonged to a huge corporation, and if word leaked out that this second guy knew it...well, the chef said it was better for his colleague to die at his hands than face the tortuous death of the corporation.
Unfortunately, since I had witnessed the death, I now would not be allowed to live. That's when I woke up the first time, flat on my back, heart racing, glad it was a dream. Unfortunately for me again, I went right back to the dream.
This time, it had changed a bit. I was living in a small town ruled by this corporation, which is now revealed to be Avon. The feminine powers that be had set an execution date. No one in this town ever challenged the decisions of the authorities because it would mean death for all and knowledge of our existence would then be known by the outside world.
In desperation, I texted my friend for help. He said that if I was scheduled to die, I'd better do it. My life was not work risking the safety of everyone else, including him. As I was standing in front of a public bathroom mirror brushing my hair, the shy woman next to me decided the town's policies were unfair, my upcoming execution was plain wrong, and that she was going to the media with the story, even if it cost her life. That was the only way, she felt to stop the ongoing persecutions.
And then the phone rang and woke me up.
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