I had the weirdest dream last night. It was weird both in content and also how the brain can make up these weird stories. I don’t understand how the brain is basically able to write, cast and produce a movie in your head that it plays inside your brain while you are sleeping.
So here’s the dream. There was a woman in my neighborhood, she was never given a name, but my brain cast Australian rapper Iggy Azalea to play her in my mind. Keep in mind this wasn’t Iggy playing herself as a cameo or anything. It was just a nameless woman.
There is a party at my house. Why? I don’t know. In reality, I’ve never had enough people who like me enough to all congregate at my house at one time for the purpose of enjoying my company. Hell, I don’t even want to enjoy my company.
By the way, none of the people at the party I recognized. My brain just filled the background with randos.
At the party, the woman played by Iggy cries. She explains she is under a lot of pressure because her husband has gone missing and the media is doing sensational stories that imply that she whacked him. The TV is on and talking about how she probably did him in. Weirdly, the brain fills in gaps…like I can’t remember what the TV said or who on the TV said it, just a general sense that the woman was being accused on TV.
I go to the kitchen and the woman follows me. She asks if she can see my bed. Sigh. Even in my dreams I have zero confidence and so I assume that a woman asking to see my bed has an ulterior motive.
I tell her no but the woman starts crying and gets upset. She tells me she really wants to see my bed. I keep saying no.
At this point, I’m not sure if my brain is a hack writer, but either everyone at the party has left or they just disappear. The woman is getting upset. She really wants to see my bed.
Perplexed, I go to my bed. She does not come with me. What could she have wanted to see?
I look around the surface of the bed. Nothing.
I look around the room. Nothing.
I lift up the bed. Her husband’s dead body is wrapped up in a sheet under my bed!
I confront the woman and ask her if she killed her husband and put his body under my bed. She says no. I don’t believe her. I am scared of her now. I tell her I’m calling 911 and she asks me not to. I grab a frying pan and somehow I am able to keep her at bay with it. I just hold the frying pan at arm’s length and this keeps her from coming near me.
I tell the 911 operator the whole story, how my neighbor is a woman accused on TV of killing her husband and that she kept asking to see my bed and so I went to the bed and found her dead husband underneath. As I do so, the woman keeps asking me to stop talking to 911 because she didn’t do it.
The police come and take the body away. For the rest of the dream, I start defending myself on a TV news show, I never see the host, just myself on the screen, and apparently my brain has made an assumption that people are accusing me of helping the wife hide the body.
The host asks me didn’t I ever smell the body and I say no I never did. This is probably again my brain being a hack writer.
The host asks why do I think people are accusing me of being in on it and I tell the host well, I’m a really ugly looking person and so people automatically assume that ugly people are bad, but I wasn’t in on the husband murder or the cover up and honestly, if I was, why would I have called the police to tell them about the body under my bed?
Sigh. Even in my dream I’m aware how ugly I am and the biases people have against me as an ugly person.
At that point I wake up and that’s the end of the dream. My brain did leave some plot holes, but still, it’s crazy how in a dream, the mind can come up with an elaborate story. What was the point of all that? Why did my brain make that story happen? What series of brain cells start firing to make this little inner brain movie happen?
Also, why couldn’t it have been a happier dream? Why couldn’t the woman played by Iggy Azalea have just come over to bang me and live happily ever after? Why did there have to be a dead husband? Why did I have to be falsely accused?
Clearly, my brain knows my life is shit. Ergo, if my brain puts a hot chick at my party, she can only be there as part of an elaborate rouse to frame me for murder and not just because like she wants my junk. My unconscious brain is literally able to do the calculations in my sleep necessary to conclude that the woman would never be there just to like me and shit.
Oh brain. What little esteem you hold me in.
Feel free to discuss what you think my brain was trying to tell me in the comments.
Bookshelf Battle 