I've been meaning to tell you about the dream I had two nights ago. It referenced the new terrorism archetype we get to pass down to our children as fodder for their dreams. Cool!
I'm walking down the street (not my street or any street I'm exactly familiar with) and all of a sudden I see crowds of neighborhood folks (not my neighbors exactly) who had been talking, maybe having a neighborhood barbeque or something, running for their lives. Screams, oh my god's, and eyes to the sky as they ran back to their given homes. I stood in the middle of the street and saw a man looking skyward, his hand shading his eyes, and even though I couldn't see his eyes, I saw terror.
I looked up and there it was. A plane disguised as a giant rectangular birthday cake, so innocent looking, like one of those planes that pull the silly banners behind them, and out from the bottom layer of vanilla frosting, the plane was spraying something that looked like white flour (but I knew it was poison) over the neighborhood.
oh shit!
I ran to my car with a single mission on my mind--FIND JENNA! I realized at that moment that when the birthday cake of death comes, I won't have time to both duct tape and plastic sheet the house AND go get my kid. There won't be time. I'll have to choose. And in my dream I chose to get my kid.
I woke up with the alarm clock as I was racing to find Jenna. I remember exactly how the flying birthday cake of death looked. I wish I could draw it for you. I now understand that the duct tape and plastic sheeting were a waste of money, because poison flour waits for no woman.
Jung spins in his grave.
