No, it’s not what you’re thinking. But BY GOD what I dreamt last night was so freaking cool that I have to write about it. Let’s see if everyone else thinks so.
If you don’t know by now who Greta X is, that’s a damn shame. But either way, here’s the completely amazing dream I had last night.
I have never, I repeat NEVER written down a dream before…until 3am this morning. So without further adieu, let me tell the story.
It would appear that Greta and I have made hasty plans to visit St. Louis for the weekend. While this is believable for me as I used to live there and know people there, I have no idea why Greta would agree to do this as a “fun girls’ weekend!” I dare say, St. Louis is really not what you would call “irrational and reckless fun.” We meet at the airport, and Greta is carrying a large, handled paper sack full of her dirty clothes. This in no way seems strange to me. We embark on our journey.
As we board the MegaPlane via the rear, Greta goes ahead and continues through the plane while I stop to use the plane’s laundry facilities. And by “facilities,” I mean the plane’s one washer and one dryer. Because I do so much laundry IRL, I suppose that this is just carrying over into my sleeping life. After all, does it not seem absolutely natural to have the ability to do laundry everywhere, especially on a plane?
Needless to say, I have to do her laundry as well as my own, and by the time I get it all loaded, I am the last person to enter the actual plane. But oh, wait, fuck me, this plane has TWO PARTS and I am somehow in the portion of the plane that will be travelling to BOSTON. Greta, having entered the plane early enough to get a seat in the “St. Louis” portion of the plane, tragically does not know that I will suddenly not be joining her.
(I find out later in the dream by looking out a window that the plane is joined together by what looks like an accordion made out of a sock. Surely this is the height of safety.)
So after resigning myself to the fact that I will not make it to St. Louis or see Greta to tell her, I just sit back (sort of – there are no flight attendants, and I have not buckled in, so I slide around in my seat until I figure out that the lack of a seat belt could potentially be a real problem) and enjoy the incredibly WEIRD RIDE. Which sort of feels like the plane is slowly going over each building, as if it were made of putty. For some reason we are taking off from Houston, which is not where space rockets take off from (nor is it where either of us live), but we putty over a rocket launch tower, as the pilot comments on how proud the city must be to have that launching pad. Rocket is indeed attached.
We bank extremely hard to the left and are more “in the air,” instead of just skimming rooftops, and there is a scheduled intermission for all passengers. This intermission takes place in what I can only imagine is the accordion sock. I see Greta! Hurray! I tell her what has happened, and how we are obviously beset on all sides by tragedy. Our intermission time is over, and I make my sad way back to the Boston portion of the plane. I scream silently to Greta, “Staaaaaaaaay with meeeeeeeeeeee!!!!” She keeps walking.
But wait! What soft light from yon window breaks?! It IS Greta! She is now stuck on my side of the sock! If we can’t have St. Louis, then dammitall, we will have Boston.
But it wasn’t. I woke up at this point, in total awe of this dream. I wrote as much as I could (given the fact that I was half asleep) and my last line says “you got stuck on my plane! YAY!”
I returned to my slumber, and the dream continued. Greta and I were magically transported to Las Vegas, where getting into a hotel is evidently really difficult to do, and they just give you a packet of guitar strings upon registration.
Thank god we are both gifted guitarists. In dreamland.