I can be accused (j'accuse! j'accuse!) of being a creature of impulse, and not the clearest thinker when it comes to dietary thoughtfulness.
And being the madman I am, the other night I ordered (and ate, I shame-facedly admit) an entire pizza before going to bed. Yes, my friends, a whole pizza. Medium. Many slices.
Needless to say, I had some whack-ass dreams.
Of course I don't remember exactly what I was dreaming about, but I do know that I was working at some remote theater, and that all the actors lived together on a compound near the theater. There were ominous overtones of some vague religious association, as the male and female actors were housed in separate dorms, and the men all ate together in the "men's refectory."
I think, by the way, I should get bonus points for (a) knowing what a refectory is, and (b) actually constructing a dream-world in which one exists. It was all tres medieval.
Anyway, there was a creeping sense of doom about the whole dream, but it wasn't the "we go on in twenty minutes and I don't know my lines" variety.
I think I had the sneaking suspicion that the whole theater was being taken over by religious zealots; there were a lot of groups sitting around whispering to each other and eyeing me askance. And on top of it all, I had to sleep on an ironing board.
No, really.
I was unpacking near my "cot," and I thought to myself, "That looks really narrow and uncomfortable." So I dragged all the bedclothes off and underneath a heap of blankets and sheets was -- I shyte you not -- a collapsed ironing board.
At about the time I started loudly complaining about this, I woke up. Not terribly well rested, I can tell you.
I'm at a loss to explain this dream. Or, precisely, I'm at a loss to narrow it down to any one of the many creeping dreads that are clearly lurking in my subconscious.
All I know is that I'm not eating pizza before bed. Ever again.
And being the madman I am, the other night I ordered (and ate, I shame-facedly admit) an entire pizza before going to bed. Yes, my friends, a whole pizza. Medium. Many slices.
Needless to say, I had some whack-ass dreams.
Of course I don't remember exactly what I was dreaming about, but I do know that I was working at some remote theater, and that all the actors lived together on a compound near the theater. There were ominous overtones of some vague religious association, as the male and female actors were housed in separate dorms, and the men all ate together in the "men's refectory."
I think, by the way, I should get bonus points for (a) knowing what a refectory is, and (b) actually constructing a dream-world in which one exists. It was all tres medieval.
Anyway, there was a creeping sense of doom about the whole dream, but it wasn't the "we go on in twenty minutes and I don't know my lines" variety.
I think I had the sneaking suspicion that the whole theater was being taken over by religious zealots; there were a lot of groups sitting around whispering to each other and eyeing me askance. And on top of it all, I had to sleep on an ironing board.
No, really.
I was unpacking near my "cot," and I thought to myself, "That looks really narrow and uncomfortable." So I dragged all the bedclothes off and underneath a heap of blankets and sheets was -- I shyte you not -- a collapsed ironing board.
At about the time I started loudly complaining about this, I woke up. Not terribly well rested, I can tell you.
I'm at a loss to explain this dream. Or, precisely, I'm at a loss to narrow it down to any one of the many creeping dreads that are clearly lurking in my subconscious.
All I know is that I'm not eating pizza before bed. Ever again.
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