Film still, “Close Encounters of the Third Kind”, 1977.
Entry from my Dream Journal, Spring 2012:
Lana and I were out for a walk in a neighborhood I’ve never seen before, and we stopped in front of an adorable house. I told Lana, “Boy, I’d sure like to live there.”
Just then, a one-eyed puppy ran up behind me, barking at my heels. Lana screamed, “Ohhh! A dog with only one eye…that’s good luck!”
After loving on us and panting happily for a while, the tiny, visually-impaired pup started hopping toward the front of the house we’d been admiring. It looked back at us, and then lifted a small “Welcome” doormat to reveal a key. I picked up the key, turned it inside the keyhole of the front door, and it opened with a *click*.
Once inside, Lana and I stood in amazement — everything we owned was inside the house, as if we’d moved in. We walked into the kitchen, where we found a home-cooked meal prepared for us, and at the head of our dining table stood a married couple, ready to serve us. The female wasn’t recognizable to me, but there was no doubt about the male — it was the Academy Award winning actor Richard Dreyfuss, his physical appearance exactly as it had been in the film “Close Encounters of the Third Kind” decades ago.
“You’re all moved in,” said the woman. “Do you like it?”
“Actually,” said Richard Dreyfuss, “what we REALLY mean is…how do you like THIS…?”
And with that, Richard took a huge spoon from the table, dipped it into a bowl of mashed potatoes, lifted a heaping spoonful of the stuff slowly into the air, and then flung it directly into Lana’s face.
Right before the alarm clock went off, I was lunging forward, fully prepared to kick some Dreyfuss ass, as Lana said to him, “Bitch, please.”
And this is what it’s like inside my head, night AND day, 24 x 7.
Except for about
30% 35% 40% of the time, when I’m stressed and scrambled and my brain is straight up exactly like THIS:
‘Night you guys. Dream big or go home.