I Hate You, Freudian Dreams

"I hate dreaming. Because when you sleep, you wanna’ sleep. Dreaming is work, you know - there I am in a comfortable bed, the next thing you know I have to build a go-kart with my ex-landlord. I want a dream of me watching myself sleep."
- Mitch Hedberg

Sigmund Freud, quite frankly, was an asshole. Actually, allow me to clarify: anyone who dedicates the majority of his/her life to dream study is an asshole. Why? Well, let me explain. Now, this may not be completely true, but I'm pretty sure dreams are just a composition of shit your brain mushes together and plays out for you when you fall asleep. Sort of like one of those B movies starring Roddy Roddy Piper, no rhyme no reason, just fucking MUSH, some beatings, and a few soft-core sex scenes. And since your mind is asleep, it is in a state of 'fucked', hence the weirdness. Oh sure, you can get all scientific on me and tell me that my dreams are repressed fears and unfulfilled desires and needs and blah blah blah blah, but then you'll just have to answer me this: The other night I had a dream that I was a geriatric homeless man who got mad at a young woman for hiding crumbcake and proceeded to push her down a grassy hill and steal the whole thing…

Now, Smarty McNerdfuck, what I would like to know is, WHAT THE FUCK DOES THAT MEAN???

Bottom line, dreams suck. They are either a titanic letdown, shit-your-pants scary, or a mind-fuck. There are no other versions. And I can't decide which version is the worst. But what I do know is waking up in a state of disorientation because you were only seconds earlier playing lawn darts with Martin Scorsese fucking blows.

In my dreams, I win the lottery way too often. It's honestly unhealthy. Do you know the ill effects this has on a person's mind? You wake up and for one second you actually believe that you are a newly minted billionaire. "Holy shit, I can't wait to got to work today with no pants on and piss into the copy machine ink!" But then the fog washes away and you quickly realize that the whole thing was a farce. WHY DID YOU JUST DO THAT TO ME, BRAIN? It's literally the worst feeling in the world. Oh look, back to mediocrity, ho-hum. Say, are there any errant knives laying around here that I can plunge into my jugular?

And it’s not just the lotto dreams - all fun/enjoyable dreams are like this. One minute you're watching reruns of "The Office" and dozing off in your bed, the next you're cruising the ocean on a yacht with all your friends. BALLING. It's sunny, breezy, and utterly divine. Then some beeping sound rips you from your slumber. You look, and it's you cell phone ringing. You quickly realize that you're back in your bedroom. It's Will calling. Will wants to know what round Bo Jackson was picked in the 1987 NFL Draft? YOU TOOK ME AWAY FROM MY YACHT FOR THIS STUPID QUESTION? He was taken in the 7th round, asshole. Happy? Now please go slip on the ice outside whatever shithole bar you're in and crack your head open on the cement.

For some reason, I have an overwhelming amount of terrible dreams. Nightmares, if you will. I find myself knife fighting my mom on a busy highway. WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT ABOUT? I hate falling asleep and realizing that I am wanted for murder. Who did I murder? Why did I murder this person? And dream-me does dumb shit, like hide in a shed. Why the fuck am I in this shed? I should be shaving my head and applying a fake mustache and putting in fake contact lenses. I should be following James Dickey's "To the White Sea" word-for-word and escaping to freedom in the Japanese wilderness. But no, here I am, hiding in a ratty old shed, holding a fucking broom. Bravo, dummy.

Some people say they enjoy the feeling of relief when they realize their bad dreams were just bad dreams. But you know what? FUCK THAT. Why do we even have to go through the pain and stress of being involved in a murder case? Why can't I just not dream about being the patsy in a global mercenary operation altogether? I'd rather dream about eating a Watermelon Italian Ice. If I dream about the Watermelon Italian Ice, at least I can actually satisfy that craving in real life. But no, back to the corporate scandal dreams, and the stressing over lawyer fees and that talking fucking spider that speaks Japanese, and my uncontrollable urge to piss even though all the toilets are actually Venus Fly Traps...

I'm so fucking envious of people with insomnia.

I also can't stand waking up from a fun dream and then trying to jump back to sleep so I can try to recapture it. Maybe if I close my eyes nice and tight then I will return to the mansion I just bought on the French Riviera with a skeetball alley. But nooooooooooo, there's no going back once old mister bladder comes bitching for relief. No, instead I end up falling asleep to a blank screen or returning to some bizzaro version of the mansion dream, where everything is all shitty and weird, like the alternate version of 1985 in "Back to the Future 2."

Hopefully, sometime in the near future, scientists will discover a way for the gen-pop to manipulate their dreams so you can use them as platforms to act out their twisted little fantasies without actually going out into public dressed as Shamu to fuck a fire hydrant. These machines will act like the precogs in "Minority Report," only less pale and creepy, and you know, not a living, breathing human being. Unfortunately, by the time this technology is invented, I'll probably be either dead or all fucking old and senile and shitting myself to appreciate this awesome tool. But I can be unselfish, believe it or not, so I do hope that future generations get to decide what they dream about. Because real life is rough, and there's no reason we should be going to bed to face a jury of bananas over a murder rap or walk the streets of Manhattan stark naked or think you've been given the GM job of the Yankees only to wake up and realize you're late for work and it's sleeting outside and your a white collar slob.

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