This morning I had the weirdest dream (and for me that’s saying something, given how weird my waking life can be my dream world has a lot of competition).

Anyhow, I was at a school, in the theater department – which was really just a cafeteria with a stage; and the cast of the show was planning on pulling a prank on the leading man in their show.  (No, I don’t know the play, no I didn’t know who any of these people were – I was just sitting in a corner reading – which is one of my favorite activities when I’m in a theater; just ask anyone who was in Sunnyvale’s production of La Cage – I was the fat old lady troll sitting in the dark corner of the hallway outside the dressing rooms reading.)

I thought that their idea was ill advised (it involved tricking the actor into stepping off of a dock and falling into the water – and I’m sure it was not in any way derived from Ridiculousness which we happened to watch that night). I wasn’t saying anything.  I didn’t know these people – so it all goes in the big box in my head marked “Not My Problem”. They kept saying how they had to be careful that the plan didn’t get out – even though they had a stranger sitting in the room where they were discussing said plan.  Theater people – not always the most practical.

Suddenly there was a short fat Hispanic woman at my feet (which were inexplicably bare) and she was trying to stab my toes with a syringe!

I was all, “WTF are you doing?” but she wouldn’t answer me.

I then decided that she must not understand English – so, for the first time, in my dreams, I spoke in Spanish – not fluent beautiful Spanish – but Spanish as I would actually speak it – slow, halting and absolutely wrong.  I said:

“Por que tu ves mis peces”

This means “Why do you see my fish.”

Hmmm.  When I woke up (a bit later) I realized I should have said

“Por que tu quieres ver mis pies”

Oh well.

Anyhow, she answered in English (pointing out that she figured she’d better talk to me in English considering how bad my Spanish is – RUDE!) that she was trying to check my blood sugar.  I told her I already have an appointment for that (as a matter of fact, I do); and then I was following her – through the hallways of Kaiser (our HMO) – and I, no shit, started telling her the whole story about my troubles with Kaiser and the terrible psychiatrist from the Geriatric Psychiatrist Department! OMG. 

See? I knew Dr Ass Hat scarred my psyche!


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