Below is my dream from last night. Hopefully it doesn't contain any implications about the state of my subconscious (other than, perhaps, an active and healthy imagination that will feed any fiction writing I decide to do). If this dream does reveal something about the state of my mental health, and you are able to discern what it is, please let me know (unless it's particularly disturbing, and the resultant trauma of finding out would drive me deeper into psychosis).
Kevin walks into the room as if he owns the joint (his usual too-cool-for-the-room entrance). Only this time, his haughty swagger is out of place. Something is wrong with this picture; something is frustrating Kevin's efforts to project his "I'm a rock star" aura. Is that a corn chip on his eyelid? How did it get there? How is it adhering to his skin? And how does he continue neither to feel nor see it? (It's pretty massive, and is clearly obstructing the vision in his left eye.)
"Love the corn-chip eye patch, Kevin," I taunt.
"What? Do I have something in my eye?"
"Come here, lemme get it." Secure in my masculinity, I try brushing it away without feeling awkward by this homosocial touching-of-the-face. Part of comes off. I try a second time, and more is removed, only to reveal an odd crusty film where bits of Frito once lay.
"Ugggghhhhh! Kevin!" Brina says in her usual I'm-disgusted- by-something- Kevin-has just-done tone. She starts trying to rub it off his face (a typical Brina maneuver is to be repulsed by something Kevin has done, then touch, pick, or otherwise initiate contact with whatever initially grossed her out). When all of a sudden, in walks...
...ADRIENNE LAU! [Warning from the surgeon and attorney general: minors, those with weak constitutions or at high risk of heart attack or stroke, or anyone offended by partial nudity should NOT click on the hyperlink.]
So, in real life, Adrienne is about 4'11". My subconscious likes to hyperbolize these kinds of salient features, so she only comes up a little past our ankles. Adrienne is wearing...a slurpee cup. (If you were foolish enough to click the hyperlink, you will see that this sort of get up is not more bizarre than her usual costumes. You will also notice that the typical slurpee cup is composed of considerably more material than many of her outfits.) Everything above the waist (about three-quarters of her body mass) is poking up out of the plastic lid; everything else is hidden inside the murky nether regions of the paper vessel.
Her plastic lid keeps scraping against my ankle and irritating it, so I pick her up, and drop her so that she faces another direction. Like a wind-up toy, she just waddles off along the path on which she's set. Unfortunately, this is in Brina's direction. Brina curls her lip in revulsion and says, "Ugh! I don't wanna talk to her!" Adrienne sinks into the slurpee under the lid, but when we lift the cap off, she is no where to be found! Somehow she has disappeared!
With another "ugh," Brina dumps the entire contents on the ground. I move to scold her, but Jessia Ng steps in and says "it's alright."
"It's only alright if she's going to clean up." But before either of them can reply, I wake up.
If a dream is a wish one's heart makes, as Cinderella instructs us, I have no clue what I am wishing for.
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