3:17am - Awakened from a vivid dream, as follows
So… my mom and I are taking our nightly midnight stroll down Commissioners in our nightgowns. The street is eerily quiet and we’re pretty cheerful. We come to the Wortley crossroad when Don Johnson pops out the sunroof of a purple PT Cruiser with a Jaguar hood ornament and waxes poetic over how long it’s been since he’s visited my mom and will be she be home tomorrow on Mother’s Day for a visit? A shady looking passenger can be seen behind the tinted windows in the passenger seat. As we are heading home, the street is quiet and still asleep until I bump into a friend who is walking a girl on a leash acting like an unruly monkey. We chit-chat for a bit and he says “Thank God I get paid more than minimum wage for this.” I nod thoughtfully in commiseration, give him a ‘you-can-do-it!’ encouraging pat-pat on the back and my mom and I continue home. All I am thinking is “Wow, it’s been a long time since I’ve run into him”, giving nary a second thought to the monkey-girl on a leash.
The next night Don Johnson shows up to my mom’s which is some sort of swanky, dark boudoir with purple velvet chaise lounge chairs and cheap-coloured Christmas lights. I am trying to sleep on one of the aforementioned purple chaise lounge chairs, which by the way is not very comfortable. Don is animated and loud, obviously high and can’t shut up about his new favourite ‘treatment’ - some sort of marijuana soup “that is just DELICIOUS!” His “shady friend” walks in behind him and looks suspicious like Richard from Survivor one, doesn’t talk much but clambers on top and over me to reach the cupboard because he wants to make some midnight oatmeal, stat - the good kind. This does not impress me as I am still trying to sleep - why did they show up in the middle of the night?
In the back room my sister’s friends (minus my sister) are trying this marijuana soup and loudly spitting and slurping while making faces and giggling. My mom whispers to me in a conspiratorial tone - ‘Should I be angry they are spitting their soup out? It’s not cheap you know!” This proves too much for me so I get up, super cantankerous, stomp into the other room and say “Eat your damn soup - it is not cheap! Who would like some water before I go back to bed?” Nobody raises their hand and so I roll my eyes and mumble under my breath before turning around and lumbering back to try and sleep.
Yet sleep evades me still. Somewhere behind me I hear Don Johnson extolling the virtues of his new hobby and how amazing it is. Imagine! Taking someone with no visible fine artistic talent and being able to turn out some ‘fine art’ - just AMAZING! We all just HAVE to see it! He is working on an amazing portraiture of his daughter. This intrigues me from my non-slumber so I get up to peer over his shoulder. He is on some weird little back-lit device that looks like nothing more than a modified, frankenstein-ed LightBriteTM, revealing the portrait of a very happy chimpanzee holding a flower. At this point, I think he’s not quite all there in the head, turn around silently and tip-toe back to my chaise. I awaken soon thereafter.
P.S. The were no drugs used in the making of this dream. Don’t be jealous.
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