Saturday, June 12, 2010

Bizarre dreams and fighting off old age.

I have been having really bizarre dreams lately. I can't say that this is anything new. If you know me you have heard the one about the kittens attacking the poor toothless baby alligators. I'm not sure why my dreams are so often violent, and just down-right strange. I really don't take any drugs, I promise, unless you count Breyers Butter Pecan ice cream. I have heard that ice cream can give you strange dreams, but I thought it was merely folklore--maybe not.

So the other night was in a concentration camp with my wife, at least one of my children, and a few friends. It was a small camp and we were planning our escape by staging a violent coup. For some reason there was a lot of junk in all of the barracks. We scoured the place for weapons, and I suddenly remembered that one room had, at the bottom of a pile of junk, a sword and a battle axe. So I went to go dig them out, but our captors came looking for us, just as I got into the room with the junk. There were about five of them after me and they all had billy clubs. I decided to try and hide under the junk. They were poking around in the pile trying to find me when I found the sword. The only trouble with the sword was that it had a rat-tail tang, so I knew it was good for about one hit.

Now, in retrospect, I know that what I am about to describe might sound slightly humorous, but it was terrifying at the time. I had to make the decision to fight for my life and potentially kill other human beings. This was not something that my dream mind came to lightly. The decision to kill was further complicated by the fact that the longer the people looked for me the older they became. Within seconds they were all between the ages of 65-85, and wearing retirement garb--complete with cardigans and baseball caps. But I knew that it was either them or me, so I finally lashed out with my sword, and instead of breaking immediately at the thin tang, it sort of deflated. That first hit was good, and it drew blood in my pursuer, but right then my sword became as limp as a ribbon (please no Freudian interpretation of my dreams, if you chose to comment).

As the elderly guards/retirees, closed in, I managed to run to a near-by closet and grab my battle-axe. I started hacking away at my foes, and the feeling of the blade lacerating their flesh was a truly horrible. Amidst the gore, they started cracking jokes and growing very cavalier about death. Then I woke up.

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