A Tale of Two Dreams

Two dreams woke me up from a non-so-sound sleep last night, or, more correctly, early this morning.

For the first one, I was suffering from cancer, and treatment was not going to even prolong my life. I made a choice to take the time I had left and actually live life. The problem with this was that everyone around me, including my son, had decided that spending time with the "guy who is going to die" was bothersome to their sense of self. I forged on. The Make-A-Wish Foundation offered me the Long Weekend of My Dreams and instead of spending the time with my son, my family, or my friends, I chose to spend it with a woman. The woman in question was excited and when I arrived at the airport, I found a note telling me that she would rather not "waste (her) time with someone who wasn't going to be around". I go back in the plane, because that is how dream airports work, and flew home. When I arrived, there was no one to great me at the airport, and there was some sort of screw up with my credit card, so I couldn't even take a cab home. I ended up walking from the airport to downtown, which did take me through a desert.

The second dream had me throwing a party at my apartment, however, instead of having two floors in the brownstone, I had all four. I was cooking to order in a larger kitchen and making everything everyone asked for, A friend kept coming back up and demanding lamb chops; he took four orders. There were also a lot of random people at this party, some of whom I did not know, including a bunch of guys who were...well...meatheads, for lack of a better term, or more descriptively, those over worked out, and over tanned douche bags that invade Albany bars when SUNYA returns. They were getting shots for someone who I referred to as a friend but is really much more of an acquaintance, She was getting progressively hammered on a shot that I invented (called the Stem Cell) and at one point, she announced to the crowd that had gathered to watch her drink (Raiders of the Lost Ark style)(in the kitchen, because she was sitting at the chefs' table that my dream kitchen had) that if she had one more she was "going to boot". She had five more. Then she started vomiting. Everywhere. In all my food. All over me. After he affection for regurgitation was realized, she started screaming at me about how this was all my fault and that if I wasn't such a fool, she wouldn't have had to liven up the party.

Tonight, I am taking an Ambien so that my subconscious does not bite me in the ass yet again.