I just woke up from a vivid dream where Lindsay Lohan picked me up in a black Chevy Suburban. We both drove around a post-apocalyptic hellscape drinking coffee and patiently waiting our turn to rainbow mind-meld in preparation for battle with time-eaters from that one Steven King novel.
At one point, I had to jump out of the truck and rescue Shia LeBeouf before his downed airplane burst into flames. He sat comfortably in my lap in the front passenger seat like a napping toddler. It’s not that he was short. It’s more like he was 5/8 scale, a sort of miniature fighter pilot, still unconscious and wearing the exact same flight suit that George W. Bush wore for that aircraft carrier photo-op before his Mission Accomplished speech.
Anyway, Lindsay got jealous that I had a miniature Shia LeBeouf in my lap, and so she refused to rainbow mind-meld with me so we could continue our battle with the time-eaters. Instead, she pretended to spill her coffee, and I made a passive aggressive comment about her nails, despite the fact that the time-eaters were rapidly approaching and everything around us was being devoured into a haunted void of nothingness.
We sped away as fast as our Chevy Suburban could take us, all the while relaying back to central command that we weren’t engaging the enemy due to some petty drama over a boy. Central command wasn’t the least bit surprised.
Eventually, I awoke from this dream to find my television on mute and tuned to a Proactiv infomercial. It was oddly comforting. I actually laid there and watched it for quite some time without changing the channel or turning up the volume.
So yeah, I was supposed to go to the gym this morning, but instead I stayed in bed and dream journaled this stupid post.
Have a lovely day, everyone.