At some point in your life, you’re going to have a friend who can keep going for days and days and never get tired. No bar is too loud, no drink is too many, and no party is considered too early in the morning. They are a machine–a crazy, coke-and-red-bull addled monster who is always the epicenter of the most ridiculous and the most fun ideas anyone could ever dream up, if you can keep up.
For me, that friend is sleep.
Sleep eludes me even when I feel so tired I want to cry. My brain is never shut off.
“Hey, you could write that and it would be fun oh my gosh you should say this man you know what’s great snow cones also funnel cakes man that sounds good right now isn’t japan a cool place to think about YOU’RE A TERRIBLE PERSON AND YOU’VE ALWAYS DONE EVERYTHING WRONG AND YOU’RE RUINING YOUR LIFE hey did anyone put the dog up tonight because i feel like she might pee.”
Every. Single. Night. For hours and hours.
The insanity that my brain offers when I am awake does not go away when I sleep. It simply exchanges a waking state of self-loathing and funnel cakes for two really sweet REM-stage tradeoffs that make it worth it most days.
1) Great writing ideas. Everything I’ve ever written I thought of in a sleep battle.
2) THE MOST FUCKING AWESOME DREAMS EVER:
Simon Pegg, Nick Frost, my friend Alicia and I were all in Dallas Comedy house, fighting off the zombie hoards with machetes. We were trapped in the theater when a massive basilisk came into the room. He told us we had to face him if we wanted the TriForce throne back, and we very much did, so we ended that basilisk in the greatest battle ever. We were flipping through the air and jump kicking and being generally amazing basilisk/zombie fighters, but just when we thought we were finished and stepped onto the TriForce Throne platform, we engaged a tripwire that brought back the snake Hydra style. So now there were 1,000 huge basilisks for all the pieces we chopped up, and Alicia reminds me, “Oh man, the zombies!”
“That’s it!” I said. “What if we just locked ourselves in a room, let in the zombies, and had the snakes and the zombies fight, and then we’re home free on either end!”
It’s a pretty great idea, so everyone but Simon locks ourselves into the bathroom, Simon lets in the hoard and then jumps in with us. We bar the door and begin to hear a really fantastic battle between zombies and snakes when wouldn’t you know, there’s a damn trap door in the bathroom. A fucking fresh-ass hipster zombie walks in, and we have a short slap fight that ends terribly with me waking up.
I’ll never know if the zombies and snakes finished each other off, but from the sound of it, they were making headway.
A friend of mine from several years ago visited me with his girlfriend an his severely, comically deformed baby. This friend was crying profusely, and refused to touch the baby, instead just carrying him on a couch cushion. He shoves the cushion into my hands and takes his girlfriend to my bathroom so they can ‘talk it out.’ So I sit on the couch, listening to them discuss this horrorbaby and their relationship, knowing that if I don’t leave soon, I’m going to miss my show. All while staring at this naked monster with a Kill Bill hat on its head.
Eventually, it becomes too much and I leave without telling them. The baby hasn’t moved so I figure he won’t start now, and immediately set out for finding my boxing gear. The guys from Workaholics stole it out of my jewelry box, so now I have to go on stage without it.
When I finally get to the Pepsi Center, Kurt Cobain and Dave Grohl are already onstage for our last show as Nirvana, sans instruments but plus amazing Backstreet Boys dance to Smells Like Teen Spirit. After to show, we all say goodbye to Kurt, knowing he was going to kill himself that night. Pinatas were involved in his death.
My grandmother and I are in her old living room, discussing a group of three kids who recently died. We felt like they deserved it for some reason. The note I wrote to myself in trying to remember my dream is horribly misspelled around this part, but I think these kids had robbed a bank and hit a dog or something. Either way, I had to go, so I hugged her and she took me to her front lawn to get on the Hogwarts Express to get to Kansas. Ron and Hermione ran the Express because, “Jobs for war heroes are pretty hard to come by, believe it or not.” Ron was pretty flirty, which I did not appreciate, but I did appreciate his Calliope DJ skills while he rode on the cattle guard. I will never listen to Eminem’s Shake That Ass the same way ever again.
In Kansas, I’m met on the platform by Alec Baldwin in a full tuxedo. I join him in his white Ford F-150 while wearing my ball gown, and in driving to wherever we were going (A bar? Again, so much misspelling in this note) a tornado crossed our paths. Luckily, I am the tornado whisperer, so I inferred that it was going North, and that if we just drove really fast, it would go away.
Alec and I then decide, “Fuck the bar, we’re gonna go storm chasing.” So we drove absurdly fast through Kansas, chasing all the tornados, and dodging the bikers who succumbed to a Fainting Goat effect upon sighting a funnel cloud. Really you guys, these bikers were just littering the roads. It’s a miracle we didn’t hit any of them.
And the craziest dream(s) of all.
For many years growing up, I had a recurring dream about a man with long dark hair pulled back into a ponytail. We were apparently married, because we were always doing married things together: grocery shopping, driving to Whataburger, going to Lowes, and so on. I never saw his face, never knew his name, and I would wake up any time he reached toward me. It went on like this for years–once a month I’d have the dream, and it would be a new scenario but the same old rules. Then one day I had a dream where someone hit the car we were in and he died.
The dreams stopped the moment he died for a long time. Fast forward to last fall, when I had a dream that I was pregnant with a child who, for some reason, I knew was his. He wasn’t there, and I had no indications that he would be back again, but it seemed legit. I gave birth to this child with my mom by my side, who kept saying that she wished he could be here. Two months after that, the same child is 4 years old, at preschool, where I am picking her up. My brain has lived an entire life without my genuine participation.
I’ve come to the conclusion that my brain is actually a wormhole to another planet entirely.
Ever had any crazy-ass dreams? Tell me about them!– Favorite Comment From The Last Post: From Jillian: “If a bear shits in the woods…you’re going to find out if that burrito was an “up” or a “down.” – Did you know I wrote for NickMom and MamaPop? WELL I EFFING DO! Go check it out for some extra laughs.