My Dream Journal: July 22, 2018

There are quite a few people out there who keep dream journals to record and potentially even interpret their dreams. I am not one of those people. I don't begrudge those who do their right to do so; I just usually tend to forget the details of my dreams fairly quickly. Like, almost immediately after wake up. But in July of 2018, I had such an odd, vivid dream that it stuck in my head for a fair bit, and I felt it compelled to record it while I could still remember it. I'm not sure why. Posterity? Fun and prizes?

Anyway, here are my notes on the dream:

It started, strangely enough, with Cartman from South Park filming a Cheesy Poofs commercial (you know, like he did on the show once). And the director kept demanding retake after retake (again, just like the show), except that this time, Cartman slowly started going mad after each take. The director called it a day, making it clear they would just have to get someone else to do the commercial, and Cartman went catatonic. He had to be helped out of his costume (which was an astronaut’s spacesuit with a cheese puff backpack, instead of the full cheese puff costume like it was in the show) and carried out of the studio.

While that was going on, I noticed I suddenly had an egg in my hand. I decided to leave the studio, passing by various crew members (many of them stitchers and costume designers), all while having this strange compulsion to throw the egg in the air, 2001: A Space Odyssey-style, and get a parody montage going. I ignored the impulse and headed into the next room, which was a children’s art class for some reason. I walked out of that room, found a garbage can in the hall, and threw the egg out. It was very much on the verge of cracking open. Not hatching, just…cracking all over and getting soft, like one good poke would mean egg innards oozing out all over. Sure enough, when I threw the egg out…yolk city.

I walked down the hall. It was my old elementary school. I walked out the door and noticed three friends of mine—for privacy's sake, let's call them Jack, Evelyn, and Liza—having a short race on foot. Evelyn won. I walked up to them and said hello. I gave Jack a hug.

We started walking down the street. As we did, we all noticed a forest green Jeep with gold trim—real fancy-lookin’—being driven by Homer Simpson. In the back, there was a big plastic tote full of charms and decorative manila envelopes. At least, that’s what they looked like to me; they had those string-and-charm clamp-things that children’s Valentine card envelopes usually have. Liza said it was her “truck full of peyote”. Those exact words. We questioned why she would have such a thing. Well, Jack tried, but stammered through it; I managed to get my words out and felt strangely proud, like it was the first time I’d ever managed that. But Liza just laughed. The Jeep drove off, and the four of us walked on to the corner.

As we crossed the street, music started playing and everybody started dancing. Jack, Evelyn, Liza, and I kept crossing as we danced. Evelyn danced with Liza, and I danced with Jack but kept screwing up the steps. We determined that the reason for my screwing up was that we never decided which of us would lead. Of course, by then, the music had stopped. And it’s only when Jack noticed and said so that everyone cleared out of the street.

Then I woke up.

Three years later, and I've still got no idea what, if anything, that dream could've possibly meant. I don't think I really need to know. The surreal experience of it all is enough on its own.