I’m often plagued by visions magnifique, thematic elements that haunt me even when I wake.

I’ve noticed that recently, the way I remember my dreams has changed.

Usually I remember whole chunks, stories or acts. Event A led to Event B, which initiated Event C. I can see why things unfolded as they did. Though medical doctors have stated in many reputable studies that one can dream up to a dozen times in a single eight hour session, we only tend to remember the last few before we wake. Fairly normal, across the board sort of occurrences. However my dreams have been cutting in and out, as I seem remember as little as a line of dialogue, or as much as a single scene. It’s as if I’m flipping channels and catching bits and pieces of an old movie on cable.

Something must have happened to cause this shift in recollection… the questions is what?

I’ve not suffered a panic attack in ages. No serious injuries to the brain. As best I can tell I am still alive and everything around me is not a series of illusions, nor am I dead and walking among the living.  I cannot prove the latter two, but we’ll just have to assume for scientific purposes.

Why is the satellite dish inside my brain dropping the signal?  I imagine trying to solve this problem is fruitless

I leave to you, my loyal readers (bobandandrew.com-munists, I’ve taken to calling the lot of you), the most recent fragmented recalling of a slumber. I hope someone can shed light, fill in the gaps, or merely direct me to a discreet pharmacist that can write me a “prescription” for diazepam.

Dream Begin

Often times my dreams begin in a field, usually at the crest of a hill. Trees in the distance- maybe a forest- freshly cut grass and the odd flower. The sky is clear and sun shines, but it’s not too hot. A brisk breeze ruffles my cummerbund. Oh, right. I’m wearing a jet black tuxedo with tails, top hat and cane. The suit is two sizes too small, and I have trouble moving my arms.

I’m in grade school. I have a friend who looks just like Kurt Cobain. We jest as friends that age would, until he insults me and I am very much hurt. We wrestle, and I punch him in the face repeatedly.

A few years later, I run into Kurt again. He’s not well- shaggy, quiet, depressed. I suggest he start a band.

I’m binge drinking alone in a bar, again in my suit. A beautiful young girl is dancing by the jukebox. Liquid courage beaming, I shimmy over and put a dollar in the machine. I forget what played, but due to the suit’s size, I am only able to dance the robot. The woman laughs at me, and I go back to drinking.

I’m at the altar with the bar girl. I’m about thirty five. There’s a photo of Kurt on a casket. I guess we’re trying to save money and have the world’s first wedding/funeral bicentennial. The priest asks if I take this woman. I shout “No!” in her face and take off running.

Bob gives me a bottle of whiskey and we purchase matching revolvers. We are assassins for hire, and have only one rule: if one of us dies, the other has to avenge him.

I’m an old man… suit fits better now. Bob quit a long time ago. I’m sent on an ordinary job- or so I think- to kill a man who skipped on child support. Turns out the man is Bob Woolsey.

Back in the field. Young again. Big pile of a money right beside me. A tiger appears. He speaks but only in REM lyrics. We can barely communicate and he keeps calling me Kenneth and asking about the frequency. I tell him to kindly fuck off. He mauls me.

I’m in the bar again. Bob is with me. He tells me to go say something to that girl by the jukebox. I walk up to her and try some horrible pick-up: she jumps on me like I’m the last train to the coast. Bob gives me a thumbs up.

The last thing I can remember, is that I’m on set of some horrendous TV movie with Jamie Lee Curtis. She’s demanding coffee and ridiculous things from me. When I tell her I am the director, she laughs in my face. Seemingly unfazed, I call to Simba, and my magic tiger appears. He murders Jamie Lee.

I wake up.

Well, I listen to a lot of Jimmy Buffett, I watch The Hunt For Red October whenever it comes on TV and I take baths instead of showers whenever possible.

You might say I’ve given up on my dream of being a sailor. You might also say that I’ve lost part of who I am by not following this passion. You might be a jerk. But, as we all know, you can’t be everything you want to be in life. Some desires have to give way to others so that we may be genuinely successful at one thing rather than kinda good at many things. It’s how we deal with these lost opportunities that make us into one of two kinds of people:

1) Happy, well adjusted, relatively normal individuals.

2) Losers.

Here is my theory on how to make sure you end up as number one instead of number two:

First of all, you need to make sure your dream is achievable. For example, we all say at one point that we want to be an astronaut when we grow up. This notion is just ridiculous. Astronauts have to go through a crazy amount of training and possess an above average skill level. By odds alone, it’s clear that most of us will never achieve this dream. Plus, space is kind of scary. It’s so dark and big.

Also, the Challenger disaster comes to mind.

Of all the dreams you may have, you’re going to want to decide which is most important to you. Sure, I’m intrigued by the idea of setting sail for unknown lands and letting the wind take me where she will, but I have other dreams too. Dreams that are just as important to me and a lot more suited to my skills. Among these: Fireman, Dog Catcher, Highwayman, School Teacher, Writer, Comedian and Tank Driver. I was a Fireman for a summer and it was fun, but I didn’t want to do it for the rest of my life. I attempted to pursue the School Teacher angle but that wasn’t nearly as fun as it seemed it would be. While I know I would be an awesome Tank Diver, I simply don’t agree with what tanks are used for these days. Finally I ended up writing and trying to be funny and so far that seems to be fitting quite well.

You see, whatever you’re true passion is, you will end up doing it. It’s just a matter of LETTING yourself do it. This is why serial killers have such a rough time in life.

I’m looking at you Jack the Ripper.

Once you find yourself doing something that you love, you have to be persistent. If you want to be a ballerina and some jack-ass ballerina teacher tells you that you suck, you have to be able to continue anyway – even though ballerina instructors are known for their acerbic tone. While being persistant you also have to know that the image of what your dream will look like is probably not what it will turn out to be at all. In my dreams of being a comedy writer did I imagine myself on YouTube with some shlub named Andrew Menzies?

Yes, yes I did, but I’m the exception to the rule in that regard.

You also have to be prepared to make sacrifices along the way. Those sacrifices just might mean choosing between 2 or more dreams. Like me and my sailing. If ballerina boy from the example above also wants to be a golf course groomer, he’s got a tough choice ahead of him. Of course there is a chance that you can have more than one dream come true. I might just make it rich enough through writing to own a sail boat, pay a crew and live my Jimmy Buffett fantasy. But that would be a bonus at this point. I’ve made my choice in life and if I get to the point where I can be both a ballerina dancer AND a golf course groomer I’ll be very lucky.

The key to keeping a balance in your life and not getting hung up on the fact that your life is not working out how you’d planned is to keep your expectations low. And by low, I mean non-existent. And by non-existant, I mean vague. People who think they know exactly who they are going to be in 5 years almost invariably end up on somekind of anti-depressant. Life is so much more enjoyable if you roll with the punches while staying true to who you are. If you’ve always seen yourself having a family but no one will date you because you smother them with your insecurities till they get a restraining order on you – look into getting a cat (or a dog if that’s more your style). You see, the key is to make compromises whilst living your life for you.

In closing I’ll just say this: Sailing is really cool, but if a ballerina teacher told me I wouldn’t be very good at it, I’d pack my bags and go to a golf course where I’d eventually end up writing a funny story.

Think about it.