feng_shui_house (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
feng_shui_house) wrote2017-02-19 10:10 pm
feng_shui_house) wrote2017-02-19 10:10 pm
I had a dream
I woke up from a nap a few minutes ago, and hurried to write down what I remembered of my dream.
J. Edgar Hoover was in it but I forget what exactly that was near the beginning.. I was sorta working for the FBI, and some shit was going down, but I didn't know why I was involved because my work was along the lines of sitting in the back of a car, making notes for the agent on stake-out, but I got called out of the car because an informant? wanted to talk to me, and it was someone who'd been sending me messages hinting about old scandal involving a giraffe doll/ Sheriff Woody/ Charlie McCarthy toy (McCarthy because of the McCarthy 'witch hunt communist trials?') so I walked across a parking lot looking for suspicious people to my house, and she was already inside, and she was a pain in the ass not wanting to tell me much and not wanting to let me go, and I had supper cooking POT ROAST in a pressure cooker, and I finally told her I was going and I got up from the couch (Jesus, I remember that couch from 1960, it was a coarse grayish brown plaid) and she was shocked and I said You put out the cigarettes and I'll come back and talk to you when the smoke dissipates (she had one in her hand and another in an ashtray) and I went in the kitchen and my pot roast was turned upside down, lid off, gravy everywhere, and I was cleaning up the mess and I turned around and she was there, staring at me, seriously, not being bitchy for once, and I said, oh shit, you've been shot, this day is really going crap for me, and she turned around and had a neat little red-outlined hole in her white shirt, high up on the left shoulder, and I'm all sit, I'm calling the ambulance, and she's wait, here, you have to take this paper, and it was one of those carbon copy forms you get from a company, with lots of little spaces filled in with numbers and writing, and I read the name of the company, but I forget what it was now (but aren't you not supposed to be able to read in a dream? so maybe I only thought I read it. It began with C', maybe), and then the Bahamian taxi drivers (who looked a lot like the old actors 'Steppin Fetchit' from Jack Benny?) showed up and she told me I had to tell them the joke about Elvis, and I started to tell them something where I don't know if Elvis was involved, but I looked out the front window and my Satanist neighbors had built two bonfires (in barbecue cookers) inside my front gate on my front lawn. AND I HAD GRASS! THEY WERE RUINING MY GRASS.
So I woke up and peed and turned on the computer just the minute Z sent me an email. We're like Harley and Tony, we're connected. ;^)
J. Edgar Hoover was in it but I forget what exactly that was near the beginning.. I was sorta working for the FBI, and some shit was going down, but I didn't know why I was involved because my work was along the lines of sitting in the back of a car, making notes for the agent on stake-out, but I got called out of the car because an informant? wanted to talk to me, and it was someone who'd been sending me messages hinting about old scandal involving a giraffe doll/ Sheriff Woody/ Charlie McCarthy toy (McCarthy because of the McCarthy 'witch hunt communist trials?') so I walked across a parking lot looking for suspicious people to my house, and she was already inside, and she was a pain in the ass not wanting to tell me much and not wanting to let me go, and I had supper cooking POT ROAST in a pressure cooker, and I finally told her I was going and I got up from the couch (Jesus, I remember that couch from 1960, it was a coarse grayish brown plaid) and she was shocked and I said You put out the cigarettes and I'll come back and talk to you when the smoke dissipates (she had one in her hand and another in an ashtray) and I went in the kitchen and my pot roast was turned upside down, lid off, gravy everywhere, and I was cleaning up the mess and I turned around and she was there, staring at me, seriously, not being bitchy for once, and I said, oh shit, you've been shot, this day is really going crap for me, and she turned around and had a neat little red-outlined hole in her white shirt, high up on the left shoulder, and I'm all sit, I'm calling the ambulance, and she's wait, here, you have to take this paper, and it was one of those carbon copy forms you get from a company, with lots of little spaces filled in with numbers and writing, and I read the name of the company, but I forget what it was now (but aren't you not supposed to be able to read in a dream? so maybe I only thought I read it. It began with C', maybe), and then the Bahamian taxi drivers (who looked a lot like the old actors 'Steppin Fetchit' from Jack Benny?) showed up and she told me I had to tell them the joke about Elvis, and I started to tell them something where I don't know if Elvis was involved, but I looked out the front window and my Satanist neighbors had built two bonfires (in barbecue cookers) inside my front gate on my front lawn. AND I HAD GRASS! THEY WERE RUINING MY GRASS.
So I woke up and peed and turned on the computer just the minute Z sent me an email. We're like Harley and Tony, we're connected. ;^)