Crazy week, eh?
By the time you read this, we may know who our next President is. At the time of writing this, I still have no clue. Last I checked, the entire election now hinges on the voting preferences of Wayne Newton, the dudes from "Ghost Adventures," and one Mary F. Smith of 342 Briar Lane, Beaver Springs, Pennsylvania.
In times of turmoil and stress like this, many of you naturally turn to experts for advice, leadership, and a steady hand. And by "experts," I'm obviously referring to your local media's resident humor columnist. I humbly recognize my vital role in our nation's stewardship and your overall peace of mind. This burden weighs heavily on me. I've been hitting the Cheez-its pretty hard this week.
I fear, however, that I don't at the moment have much to contribute to our nation's discourse. I'm sure you're all collectively disappointed. I've spent the past 24 hours staring at CNN, at times cheering and at other times considering Canadian real estate. I'm not sure what to think, feel, or say -- which is why I went to bed early last night. Optimistically, I thought perhaps my subconscious would sort it all out. Maybe I'd have a relevant dream that could provide answers and wisdom to bestow upon you all.
Well, I had a dream, alrighty. I'm not quite sure what to make of it, but perhaps we can analyze it together and glean insight and understanding to our current plight.
(I'm not kidding. This really WAS the dream I had last night:)
Like many of you, I've struggled with accomplishing chores and duties in our "new normal" of 2020. In yesterday's dream, one of those duties was to attend a beauty pageant. Not COMPETE in said pageant, mind you. I simply had to attend and be in the audience. Somehow, for some reason, it was mandatory.
This particular pageant was in Maine, and even in my dream, that's a long way to travel. Thankfully, others in town had also been selected for the pageant audience. Specifically: my best friend, a co-worker, an advertising client at work, his wife who I went to high school with, the clerk at my neighborhood gas station, and my ex-girlfriend's little sister. This was the literal definition of "dream casting."
So the seven of us set off on a cross-country road trip to Maine in a rickety old school bus, Partridge Family-style. Admittedly, if I were ever forced to go to Maine, this would be a pretty pimp way to get there.
But to complicate matters, due to COVID, all roadways in Dreamerica had been turned into westbound one-ways. Going east was simply not an option. So the only possible way for us to get to Maine was to head west to Seattle, cross into Canada, and then drive back to Maine.
The next thing I remember, we were pulling into a small town in Montana to stay the night. Bad news, though -- all the hotels in town were booked. Well, all except ONE: the brand new hotel owned and operated by actor Tony Danza. As Tony took our bags, we marveled at our room, which was a two-story warehouse loft complete with mid-century modern furniture and dangerous gaping holes in the floor.
The seven of us were really excited... until we discovered the horror within. Tony must not have invested much in fumigation, because the room was infested -- with ravenous bobcats. But not your run-of-the-mill ravenous bobcats you often find in your standard celebrity-owned Montana hotels. No, these bobcats could walk upside-down on the ceiling and hang like bats.
Suddenly, my random roadtrip dream turned into a hellish nightmare of me and my acquaintances slowly being stalked and murdered by ceiling bobcats. Just as one of the hanging felines had me cornered, I awoke -- shaking, heart racing and covered in sweat. I was terrified -- for about three seconds. Then I just started laughing.
I didn't want to forget anything, so I grabbed a piece of scratch paper and scrawled "CEILING BOBCATS!" before falling back asleep. When I woke to the alarm clock, thankfully I remembered everything -- because the only thing scarier than that dream would be waking to an unexplained piece of paper that said "CEILING BOBCATS!" Sadly, I do NOT know the outcome of the pageant.
I have no idea what any of this means, but it MUST be full of important symbolism and hidden insights, no? Thankfully, the internet has a surplus of dream analysis websites. According to the ones I visited today, dreaming of beauty pageants means I'm feeling competitive. Dreaming of a bus symbolizes a desire to fit in. Dreaming of hotels indicates insecurity. Bobcats represent bad news and betrayal. And dreaming of the ability to walk on ceilings is supposed to mean I've reached a limit psychologically.
So what are the takeaways here? It's obvious, duh. The election has me feeling very competitive and wanting to fit in with what is currently 50.4% of the popular vote. But I definitely have insecurity about the outcome and the potential for bad news. And I'm pretty sure we've ALL reached our psychological limit with campaign season and 2020 in general.
Sadly, there are no internet resources as to the dream symbolism of Tony Danza, but I'm pretty sure it means I should lay off the Cheez-its before bed.
Hopefully all that helps. It's the best my subconscious can offer. Whichever way Mary F. Smith votes, I hope the election or the results don't stress you out TOO much. At least we get a break from political ads and fundraising pitches for a couple years until it starts all over again. For now, I wish you all a good night. Don't let the ceiling bobcats bite.
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