Almost every day, my brain wakes with a record already dropped on its turntable. Sometimes, it’s like a dream — me telling me something or revisiting something about me/my life. Other times, it’s random as f*ck and I like to think my subconscious is just trying to keep me entertained on this crazy roller coaster ride called life.
I celebrate this in my new Frequently Infrequent Series Woke Up Singing.
Today’s jukebox classic comes courtesy of a really weird dream and something that has happened to me twice in the past few weeks.
Brief background: A couple of weeks ago, I woke myself up having laughed in my dream and then realizing I was laughing in reality. At this point, I don’t remember what was so funny, but I am hilarious so it was probably something I said.
The extremely over-simplified version of some of last night’s dreaming:
I was at Reese Witherspoon’s abode hanging out (as one does). We were waiting for a man named Mike, who looks like one of the servers at my local Chick-fil-A, but in this scenario, he’s a cashier at a supermarket (I had been part of a conversation earlier that evening about a woman (not Reese) who made a significantly larger amount of money than her husband). I figure Reese ended up in my dream because I read about her book club’s latest selection — does everybody have a book club now?). Anyway, at Reese’s, the plan was for me to stay overnight as a guest. At one point, I notice the front door has, like, four locks, but they all need to be set with a key — from the inside. I contemplate not staying because that’s weird (I hear you… which part?).
The location shifts. I don’t remember Mike ever arriving (though there was a pug with a body as flat as a stink bug, but, you know, pug-shaped and -sized — this dream directed by David Lynch?). I don’t recall many details after that. At one point, though, Reese (I assume) calls to me.
In my dream, I half-grunt with a upward inflection in response meaning what? (again, as one does). In reality, I rolled off my stomach on to my right side, as if to direct my answer toward the door, and half-grunted, in real life.
I became less that one-third awake, but aware enough to know I answered her, but also (apparently) thought someone in the house may have called my name and I was responding to that. After a minute or so, I realized I had just answered Reese (again, as one does), and fell back into a deeper sleep.
Some time later, I woke enough to hear the jukebox in my brain playing the song below. It has a song for everything, you know, and the damn thing is always on. At least it likes the 80s as much as I do. Enjoy this 80s one-hit wonder from The Romantics, and I’ll try to converse with myself about not conversing with myself, or anyone else, real or imagined, whilst I slumber.
This post brought to you by my brain and a lifelong love of music (and snark, sometimes). Look for more Infrequently Frequent posts, you know, infrequently. Read more of Woke Up Singing here.