When I was younger, I wanted to be a dream psychoanalyst. How’s that for specific? Of course, once I realized I would have to spend 10+ years in college (undergrad, grad, med school) and that what I really wanted to do was write, I kicked psychoanalysis to the curb. However, I had read extensively on the study of dreams and had even trained myself to remember them, or at least more of them than the average person remembered upon waking.
This morning I had a very strange dream. That in and of itself isn’t unusual ~ many of my dreams are completely bizarre. This one, though, takes the cake.
So in the dream I’m living in a college dorm, which I share with a woman I don’t know and Russell Brand, of all people. WTF? I don’t like his particular vein of comedy ~ I find him pedantic and trite, and not the least bit annoying. Why he decided to grace my dream is beyond me, though I blame that new HP commercial he’s in.
Anyway, in the dream I’m sitting on Russell’s bed (in the dream he’s my roommate so I’m assuming we’re on a first-name basis) and looking through a binder of some kind. Then he wants to show me something he’s been working on as a gift to me, and he pulls out these full-page artistic trading cards (ATCs, which I used to be into for a few months back when I did paper arts). Each card is crafted from cardboard, so it’s stiff like a regular trading card, but it’s the size of a piece of looseleaf notebook paper. Each has on it a drawing inspired by a story of mine I started back in college, a fan-fic Mary Sue piece I never finished that involved the Marvel comic, Generation X.
I’m quite impressed with the cards ~ the artwork shows he’s been working on them for some time, taking care to craft each until they’re perfect. I tell him I have some poetry I wrote around the same time that focuses on similar themes (come on, I can’t have been the only person in the world to write poems about the X-Men) but he says he doesn’t want to read it because he has enough inspiration to finish the cards. Apparently he plans to create a whole set of them for me, and then, in the random manner of most dreams, we start talking about The Three Musketeers. In French.
I think I should probably lay off the Ibuprofen PM from now on, eh?