The Dream Polizei

As you may know, I'm prone to have odd dreams. Most of the time, I keep them to myself because they are too horrifying or psychosexual for humans' ears. Yesterday I read an article about dream interpretation, which I found to be both interesting and disconcerting, since most of my dreams involve falling from a plane, then, upon landing, losing my teeth before getting chased by snakes, which sucks because it puts me way off course and I end up five hours late to work, where I realize I left the house without any clothes on. So there I am, toothless, naked, and sweating like Paris Hilton in church, and the kicker is that I have to give the big presentation. Momma mia!

Last night I had a weird one. I was one of several people chosen -- probably because I was a history major -- to investigate a Bavarian castle that had somehow been undiscovered, even though Hitler apparently lived there. Jessie was there, too, probably because she is always watching History Channel documentaries on the nazi hunters and reading books about Holocaust survivors and children of nazi officers. Anyway, it was this huge gothic castle. I was tasked with the penthouse, which was where Adolf apparently slept. The room was ginormous -- probably about 60 feet by 60 feet with 20-foot vaulted ceilings -- although it was sparsely furnished, with only a canopy bed in the middle, probably where Adolf got pissed on, since that was his fetish. The room was full of dark wood, limestone walls, spider webs, and what I assume were cobwebs, although I'm still not sure what a cob is or how it makes webs. Oh, and there were miniature living elephants walking around. They couldn't have been more than two feet tall. This came as a bit of a shock to me, and I figured others would like to know about Hitler's Mini Elephants. I couldn't contain myself enough to let the rest of the crew know via our walkie-talkies because this was something that had to be told in person. I went down some stairs to a grandiose foyer-type room, also filled with cobwebs, dark wood and such. There, I could either get outside through another few rooms that I knew would take a long time, or I could go through another door which led to the unknown. I hesitated for a second, then went with the door to the unknown, which worked out nicely, since it led directly outside to a beautiful terrace, which, as you might have guessed, housed a delightful little outdoor café. Then it started to rain, and I carried on, not stopping to ask why there was a packed terrace café in Hilter's previously undiscovered Bavarian hideout.

When I woke up crying, flailing, and sweating, as I do several times every night, I thought to myself, "What does it all mean? In a past life, did I kill or piss on Hitler? Or both? Should I stop using mescaline as a sleep aide? And how did those mini elephants get there, much less survive the harsh Bavarian winters?" By the time I got to work, I was teeming with unanswerable questions. Then I pulled up my Yahoo horoscope, and the answer was provided: "Sometimes, dreams are just dreams. Don't get caught up in symbolism right now."