We are such stuff as dreams are made of...

...in which case I must be made of strange stuff indeed 'cause my dreams last night? Well, you be the judge:

Our adventure begings at some sort of outdoor film screening with Slater, where they are showing a very decrepit copy of Blade Runner on a large screen suspended in front of some cement steps. Apparently the folks showing this film do so in order to support a hydroponic tree-growing operation, which they assembled in the midst of the movie-goers, hence poor visibility and branches everywhere.

When the film begins, the entire audience leaves.

Then I'm walking down 48th Street with B, only it looks nothing like the 48th Street of reality and more like the "New York City of the Future" that the guy on "Dirty Sexy Money"--who played Miranda's hot-black-doctor-boyfriend on Sex and the City--envisioned... does anybody know what the hell I am talking about? Suffice it to say, it was one of those dream moments when I know where I'm technically supposed to be, even if it bears no resemblance to the actual place at all.

After a minute, B walks one way and I the other saying "See you tomorrow."

Next Slater and I are in a grocery store--but it seems to be a grocery store cum bar? nightclub? because we are waiting for people (who? I don't know) to meet us, and I'm trying to find the ingredients to make those tiny chocolate cookies you find at Starbucks, and the guy behind the cash register is trying to tell us it's last call--but really! I just need to find the chocolate chips! And is it really possible that these cookies only require three ingredients? That's what my BH&G Cookbook says...

Then I decide to use the bathroom--in the grocery store/bar/nightclub--which promptly begins flooding and the room is rocking back and forth like a ship at sea as I keep jumping up in the air and trying to brace myself against the walls to keep my shoes from getting wet.

Then, thankfully, I woke up.

I gave up analyzing my dreams ages ago. I would invariably look for some hidden meaning--a glimpse of the future perhaps, that my intuition had tucked away in some dark corner of my mind?--but much like wishing on stars and magic minutes (of which I am still all too guilty), this always ended in disappointment. Or, even more commonly, my now-quite-dusty dream dictionary would reveal things I didn't want to know or think about.

So I don't analyze, but I like to ponder. And often the dreams that remain most vivid after waking are those that are the most transparent.

Like the time I dreamt I was getting married--in a Duane Reade--with a ridiculously elaborate ceremony; yet not once did the groom appear in my dream, nor do I have any idea who he was.

Shortly after I first met B, I dreamt that we went over a waterfall together, then landed on top of seperate buildings and I lost sight of him as I climbed down. I saw him disappear over a fence and when I went to follow he was gone. This was months ago.

The subconscious is an interesting thing.