every second of the night, I live another life

I have always had slightly bizarre dreams. As an example, last night, I dreamed that I went camping with Kevn Kinney from Drivin n Cryin. And while that does sound like fun, it's not a thought that has ever crossed my mind during my waking hours.

I've had a lot of recurrent dreams, too. For years, I have dreamed about my great-grandfather every 4-8 weeks. In the dreams, I'm completely aware that he's dead, but it's not odd at all that he's come for a visit. We kick back, shoot the shit, and then he leaves, and I wake up. That's one of my favorite dreams, and I'm hopeful I'll keep having those sort for years to come.

Then there were the recurrent dreams about disposing of corpses. Every week, for a number of months, I had these crazy ass dreams where my car, my closet, and once, my entire house, were filled with dead people. I knew that I hadn't killed these folks, but I knew that I had to get them out of my house before the police found them. These dreams were frantic, frightening, and completely, totally fucked up. Many times, the killers would be my roommates or friends, and they'd be sitting around casually, not even bothering to help me clean up their mess. Dr Freud, any thoughts?

Probably my very favorite dream of all time, in terms of sheer randomness and delight, is the first dream I had about my Gay Dead Boyfriend.

A couple of years ago, we bought the full set of Monty Python's Flying Circus. Best $92.00 I've spent in recent memory. We watched it straight through and then watched it again. I just love me some MP. The mixture of the absurd with occasional snatches of dry British humor of the black variety is right up my alley. I love all the fellas- in my mind, John Cleese is the cute one (to me, anyway), Michael Palin is the quirky but quiet one, Terry Jones is the guy you want to be best friends with, Terry Gilliam is the weirdo that doodles all the time, Eric Idle is the asshole you can't help but love...and then there is Graham Chapman, my all-around favorite. He's smart (a trained MD even!), sophisticated, classically handsome, and the master of the straight man delivery. Le Swoon. If he was still alive...well, I would hope they had lax stalking laws in the UK.

But, as you may already be aware, my stalking would be all for naught, for Mr. Chapman did not row his boat on the same side that I fall on. The good ones are all gay, dead, or married, indeed.

So anyway, prior knowledge of his sexual preference apparently didn't matter to my subconscious. After a marathon session of MP one night, I laid my head down on my pillow and came to in a beautiful meadow in jolly old England, blissfully cuddling with Graham, who I have come to refer to as my Gay Dead Boyfriend. In the dream, we snuggled and kissed and confessed our love for one another. He admitted that yes, he was gay, and also dead, but that hardly mattered here, where we were. Gosh, it was all so sweet and romantic, like a couple of teenagers falling in love before the throes of puberty really settle in and tear up your insides with hardcore lust.

I woke up nearly giggly. It was amazing. I shared nuzzlies with one of my favorite comic actors of all time! What a night!

I ended up having two very similar dreams over the next couple of weeks, each just as chaste, but just as sweet as before. I have no idea where they came from, but I certainly wasn't complaining. My subconscious is a strange, but wonderful place sometimes.