Dreams and Nightmares

DREAM
Last week, Tuesday night

Apparently Zac Efron and I are in a movie together. Since it was literally in my dream, if Zac and I ever become the next Hollywood power couple, I can say “my dream has come true!” and it’s a totally legitimate statement. Anyway, I am the up-and-coming unknown actress and he is the superstar, so we went on a series of mall tours throughout America to promote our movie and get my face recognized. For reasons unknown, my sister has tagged along on this tour. Me, her, and a few random friends are in a mall on a raised platform surrounded by hundreds of screaming girls—and Zac is nowhere to be found. I’m calling him, panicked, leaving him voicemail after voicemail, texting him. “Zac! Where are you? Pick up!”

The girls are getting PISSED. Eventually a lot of them leave, and there’s only about twelve of them left. Zac runs around the corner in workout gear (looking, not surprisingly, like he does in 17 Again in his basketball uniform – a.k.a. BEAUTIFUL – like he just got done working out.)

“Hey, sorry, the volcanic ash from Iceland delayed my trip from London,” he says, like it takes only a few minutes to get from there to here.

Suddenly, the girls attack. The twelve start running after us, and soon the whole 400+ mob of girls are chasing us through a random mall. Zac grabs my hand and pulls me along, and finally we manage to jump down this weird escape shaft thing in the wall, kind of like a dumbwaiter but smarter. We land on a big pile of insulation which naturally freaks me the fuck out, since I’m terrified of it in real life and, apparently, dream life, so Zac heroically pulls me up onto a ledge.

We glance at each other shyly, and he puts his arm around me, and then . . .
My alarm goes off. /endfairytaleromance


NIGHTMARE
last night

I’m in the hospital. No idea why, I’m not in a gown. There’s all these babies sitting in the waiting room chairs like adults, in three-piece suits and bowler hats, with newspapers, crossed legs, talking on a cell phone, knitting, like those creepy posters that show babies playing the saxophone and shit. I look down and I’m in scrubs, I’m apparently a doctor. I look back up at the babies and they have all started to walk toward me, now with just diapers on.

With a look of sheer horror I realize that THEY ALL HAVE NEWBORN BELLY BUTTON, a.k.a. that glob of leftover amorphous blobby umbilical cord. I turn around and scream and run down the hallway.

Girls: DON’T PUT PICTURES OF YOUR NEWBORNS ON FACEBOOK. You give me nightmares. And please warn me before I accidentally click on one of your “look-at-my-pregnant-belly” photos so I can close my eyes and click through them really fast. Kthanksbye.