I woke at three a.m. after having the strangest dreams. Perhaps you’d care to analyse them, darlings.
The first dream I remember, I was trying to order a decaf Americano from Starbucks (only
it wasn’t Starbucks, I remember that much — it was a Tim Horton’s, and believe me, they don’t do Americanos there, and if they do; well, they shouldn’t) and the cashier took my order and then proceeded to go make it, only as I watched him, he was clearly not making it decaf, and I called him on it.
Now, at this point, I distinctly remember feeling dizzy and nauseated — and isn’t that strange that I can remember physical sensations from this dream?
I started getting more and more upset, and told him that I wanted it decaf, and he kept trying to tell me that he didn’t know if he could do that, and that he’d have to ask his manager (the boy was none too bright).
At this, I got furious, and let loose a roar like a lion and then collapsed on the floor and fell absolutely unable to speak. I just kept trying to pull up the Countess’ number on my phone to get them to call her to come pick me up off the floor.
Okay — cut to dream #2 (and this one is so Freudian that even I think I’m nuts). I’m at a Tori Amos concert and she’s playing away, and suddenly her piano is transformed into a giant penis, but it doesn’t faze her at all — she just keeps banging away on the giant dick (sans testicles), and when she gets to the… ahem… climax of her performance, well, perhaps you can guess what happened next.
Yes — I finally got my coffee — only it shot out the end of Tori’s penis piano!
So… a penis-playing pianist and a nervous breakdown at a coffee shop.
Let the analysis begin, darlings.