Recently I had a vivid dream, one of those dreams you think are real when you wake up, until your rational mind kicks in and lets you know you are ridiculous. But what if I wrote down my ridiculous dream and made it into a story? Then it would be real – a real story with real letters and real words, printed by a real printer onto real paper. So here is my now real and ridiculous dream:
I went to a cannabis store, which is legal in my state. (In real life I have never been to one, but this is a dream.) The store was staffed by officious bureaucrats whose mission in life was to keep a stick stuck firmly in their ass. In order to even get into the store, I had to pass through a series of doors that led to anterooms where I had to fill out paperwork and show my ID and explain to a miniony bureaucrat why I wanted to buy some cannabis. I went through at least ten of these anterooms, and at the last one (I knew it was the last because through a glass door I saw a profusion of green leafy plants) the dream took an even stranger turn.
The bureaucrat guarding the plant room told me I could not take my dog into this room, and instead I had to stash him in their doggie day care room, handily located through a small side door. I was reluctant to do so, because I loved my dog and didn’t trust the bureaucrats to care for him. (Why I had my dog with me the dream did not explain.) My dog was a Pug puppy whose name was Pepe. (In my waking life I do not own a Pug dog; my “real” dog is a terrier mix, and his name is Alex, not Pepe. If I did have a Pug, which is unlikely, I would certainly never name him Pepe. But I digress.) Anyway, the bureaucratic minion did not care about my love for my dog and insisted. So against my better judgment, I let her lead Pepe away to the doggie day care.
I went into the plant room and after filling out yet more paperwork, watching minions scrutinize my identification, and answering more questions, I was allowed to buy an ounce of cannabis. I then made my way back to the anteroom where the doggie day care was, and asked for my dog. The minion let me into the dog room – but Pepe was not there!
I frantically ran around the room, calling Pepe’s name, but there was no pug in the room. The doggie guard just shrugged when I screeched insults and breathed fire into his face, and then he called the police to come and get me.
I woke up crying, and for a brief moment I was sure I had lost Pepe forever. I even sat up in bed to look for him. Luckily Alex was there and brought me back to real life.
Could you make a story out of this dream? I’m not sure I can, but I’m going to try.