Thanks, Subconscious!

Over the weekend, I woke up from a dream that has either proved that my brain is a vacant wasteland of pop cultural references or was a forewarning that I am the One (Luke Skywalker, John Conner, Neo, Jesus, Mohammed, Abraham, Frodo Baggins, Atreyu, that fat kid that got Peter Pan's sword at the end of Hook, Max from Where the Wild Things Are: whatever your narrative understanding of the One is, I mean that).

The dream began by making it very clear that Sarah Conner was my mother and protector. Linda Hamilton Sarah Conner, none of this Lena Headey bullshit. Sarah Conner was my mother and we were in some sort of version of Jurassic Park. Naturally, though, the dinosaurs were super-intelligent and could talk. THAT DON'T MEAN THOSE BITCHES WEREN'T AFTER US, THOUGH! If there's one thing my frequent dinosaur dreams have taught me, it's that imbuing dinosaurs with the ability to reason and communicate with humans doesn't mean they aren't still just going to attack you out of nowhere. In fact, the suspense is even thicker when you can reason with them. How much more freaky is it when the dinosaurs can articulate, from several hundred yards away, their desire to eat you? It's significantly freakier, trust me on this one. I've conversed with my fair share of sentient dinosaurs in my sleep!

So here we are on this island with super-intelligent dinosaurs. Some of the smaller ones are helping us. Anything over ten feet is trying to stop us from escaping the park, the preferred preventative method being ingestion. There is an Albertosaurus on our tail, and that thing from Jurassic Park III (I've heard it called both a Spinosaurus and an Egyptosaurus) is apparently behind every large-ish tree.

Let me tell you, I've been eaten before in these dreams, and it is a real bummer. Thankfully we got out of this park alive, both Mumma Sarah and me. The dinosaurs were held back by a transparent fence. They grimaced at us and made it clear this wasn't over, etc. For the time being - this dream - it was over. For my life, however, I'm sure the battle is still in its infancy.

The next part of the dream was just a haze of running through the jungle. If my dream was a movie and I was its editor, I'd probably cut this scene. Seemed extraneous and generally didn't fit with the tone of the rest of the dream. But I feel like I'd be a liar if I didn't note that there was a little bit of jungle-running. There was, and there you have it.

At some point, Sarah Mums showed me a secret passageway on the forest floor. It was at this point that I realized that the jungle had mellowed and started to look distinctly Endorian. Or rather, it looked forest-moon-of-Endorian. It looked pretty Ewoky, is my point. We opened the passageway and found ourselves in the middle of a big, huge, crazy Sith-meeting. Just a bunch of Sith in there, discussing their nefarious plans. We were hiding behind a pole or a door, so they didn't even seem to notice, and I guess didn't have that much security in their meeting. My mother and I knew what was what. We started taking some serious notes on their plot to kill good things, knowing we could help out rebel friends (rebels against Skynet or the Empire, who knows and who cares?) I'm pretty sure we were discovered and that's what prompted me to wake up, but I did not wake up panicked or in fear. I woke up feeling like I was the bees fucking knees. It should have been a nightmare - I was in danger the entire dream. But some neuronal firing had conspired to make it fun, not petrifying. Thanks, brain!

This dream combined three of my all-time favourite high-stakes trilogies and made me absolutely, unequivocally the focus of each one. Terminator was the running thread that helped me escape Jurassic Park and venture into Star Wars territory. How wonderful of my brain to synthesize these things and give me a chance to simultaneously star in all three. Or how depressing, depending on whether or not you think dreams should be about being in your house except it's kinda sorta not your house and there's a fish jumping out of the floor and your best friend is there except it's not really him, or it's him, but five years younger. YOU BORE ME.