me’s blog

Time for another long-awaited game of Let’s Analyze Matt’s Dream!  In this dream (from which I just woke up at the ungodly hour of 6am - ugh!), apparently I had some temp assignment in the city, and I was using a car to travel to and from work.  I had to park the car in a garage for the day, and there was some asshole of a guy who ran the parking garage.  White, middle-aged guy, kinda sizable but not huge, with a brown, almost Jheri-curlish semi-mullet and a moustache.  He didn’t remind me of anyone specific from my life, though he did perhaps bear a fleeting physical resemblance to a white(r), thicker, much more imposing Lionel Richie with way less class.  Which basically means he bore no resemblance whatsoever to Lionel Richie, so let’s leave him out of the interpretations, shall we?  I have no issues with him.  The guy in my dream was more like a Sal.  Or a Louie. 

This particular morning I had to leave my car behind another car under the garage entrance while I took the key up to the asshole in charge.  The next thing I remember is coming back to get my car at the end of the day and seeing it still sitting behind the other car exactly where I’d left it that morning.  I noticed that the other car, however, seemed to have been destroyed from above by something or other, either by some giant piece of the garage’s ceiling, or by some kind of garage door apparatus.  Kind of like in that presently ubiquitous "Life Comes At You Fast" commercial (which I loved the first thirty-seven times I saw it), except that whatever had fallen on the car in my dream hadn’t just repeatedly dented one spot on the roof - it had demolished the entire length of the car, seemingly in one fell swoop.  Naturally I was concerned, both because the car in front of mine had been completely smashed in, and because my car was still sitting there where I’d left it hours ago, mere inches behind the other car’s now ruinous remains.  So I hastily went to retrieve my keys from Sal or Louie. 

While en route to his little booth, I heard a thunderous noise behind me.  I turned around to see that something else had fallen from the ceiling and completely totalled MY car.  I looked on in horror, and ran up to the booth, furious.  I started yelling at Sal or Louie, screaming that he could’ve prevented this and that he knew this was going to happen.  He laughed at me, basically making fun of me for even bothering to yell at him.  Then he kind of dared me to fight him.  I was more than a little scared, both because I was carless in a parking garage with a falling ceiling, and also because I’m a lover not a fighter.  Good old pacifist me would completely get my ass kicked by this dickhead who basically could not wait to beat the crap out of me.  He approached me and was pulling back his arm to take the first punch… when I woke up.

Which of my two faithful readers wants to take a stab at this one?  As always, I look forward to reading any and all feedback - no matter how potentially insane - in the comments section below.  Just know that I’ve already considered and discarded any interpretations related to "Dancing On The (Falling) Ceiling".  And I’m also fully aware that now, with this morning’s subconscious Henny Penny antics, my poultry-themed nickname trifecta is finally complete.  Um, yay?

This entry was posted on Friday, August 3rd, 2007 at 4:39 am and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.