I knew it was a dream because of the blue eye shadow.
I was in my car, or a car that I assume was mine. I was driving along and became aware of a strange, ambiguous, undefined feeling that something was somehow...off. I felt like someone out of the corner of my eye, outside the car, was watching me, staring at me actually, and trying to get me to look their way. Just because I'm paranoid, introverted, and over-protective of my personal space, I purposely didn't look. I kept driving. Somehow I saw myself - you know, like I was a second person present in the car (or a third person?), and noticed I was wearing a muumuu-like shirt (bright blue with huge white leafy flowers) and also 1985 blue eyeshadow like the kind the girl was wearing in the Indiana Jones movie when Indiana was still teaching classes and one of his students had a crush on him and wrote "I love" on one eyelid and "you" on the other - wrote it on top of a glittery sky blue caked-on eyeshadow - and blinked reeeaallllyy slloowwwly every time he looked at her so as to give him her ultra-subtle message.
I kept feeling the staring and now it was actually becoming more like really annoying movement, like someone was waving or thrashing around trying desperately to get me to look their way. In exasperation, and to myself and the one or two other selves in the car, I said, "tssk!" and looked out my window, preparing to roll my eyes and snarl in impatience and snobbery. Even though my car was moving, and I was driving forward at a presumably fast pace, when I looked out the window and expected to see another moving vehicle dangerously close to mine, what I actually saw made my heart beat twice as fast as usual and my hands clutch the steering wheel more tightly. It was not another vehicle. It was a small one-story red brick house with a glass door allowing me to look into the front room, in which was standing...no, JUMPING and WAVING with all the energy you'd expect from a hyper poodle, none other than RICHARD. SIMMONS. Richard was waving at me like he couldn't wait for me to look over and acknowledge his existence, more than that actually, he wanted me to get out of my moving car and come into his small one-story red brick house.
Confused and yet strangely compelled, I got out of the car, again noticing, despite the absence of any mirrors, my hideous eye shadow and flowy royal blue muumuu-shirt, and walked towards Richard Simmon's small one-story red brick house. Now I was on a sidewalk and had two or three blocks to walk, even though in my car, Richard Simmons had appeared to be right across the street. Suddenly I noticed John walking, rushing actually, by me - not even recognizing me, or pretending not to. I'm sure he was humiliated that his wife was wearing a royal blue muumuu-shirt and 1985 blue eye shadow. I tried to get his attention, and then got really, really mad when he didn't hear me. Meanwhile, Richard Simmons was still frantically waving and jumping jacks in his small one-story red brick house.
I remember thinking I was completely confused. I woke up wondering if that semester in my social science class in college where we discussed Freud and learned his actual method of dream analysis - learned it so well that we had to analyze one of our own documented dreams, actually - would help me. Unfortunately, I am no longer in college and there's no deadline for me to turn in a paper that proves I methodically analyzed my dream. And thank goodness, right? Anything with Richard Simmons in it must mean I'm really warped.
I kept feeling the staring and now it was actually becoming more like really annoying movement, like someone was waving or thrashing around trying desperately to get me to look their way. In exasperation, and to myself and the one or two other selves in the car, I said, "tssk!" and looked out my window, preparing to roll my eyes and snarl in impatience and snobbery. Even though my car was moving, and I was driving forward at a presumably fast pace, when I looked out the window and expected to see another moving vehicle dangerously close to mine, what I actually saw made my heart beat twice as fast as usual and my hands clutch the steering wheel more tightly. It was not another vehicle. It was a small one-story red brick house with a glass door allowing me to look into the front room, in which was standing...no, JUMPING and WAVING with all the energy you'd expect from a hyper poodle, none other than RICHARD. SIMMONS. Richard was waving at me like he couldn't wait for me to look over and acknowledge his existence, more than that actually, he wanted me to get out of my moving car and come into his small one-story red brick house.
Confused and yet strangely compelled, I got out of the car, again noticing, despite the absence of any mirrors, my hideous eye shadow and flowy royal blue muumuu-shirt, and walked towards Richard Simmon's small one-story red brick house. Now I was on a sidewalk and had two or three blocks to walk, even though in my car, Richard Simmons had appeared to be right across the street. Suddenly I noticed John walking, rushing actually, by me - not even recognizing me, or pretending not to. I'm sure he was humiliated that his wife was wearing a royal blue muumuu-shirt and 1985 blue eye shadow. I tried to get his attention, and then got really, really mad when he didn't hear me. Meanwhile, Richard Simmons was still frantically waving and jumping jacks in his small one-story red brick house.
I remember thinking I was completely confused. I woke up wondering if that semester in my social science class in college where we discussed Freud and learned his actual method of dream analysis - learned it so well that we had to analyze one of our own documented dreams, actually - would help me. Unfortunately, I am no longer in college and there's no deadline for me to turn in a paper that proves I methodically analyzed my dream. And thank goodness, right? Anything with Richard Simmons in it must mean I'm really warped.
Labels: dreams
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