My favorite dreams are flying dreams. They don't happen very often, but when they do I wake up feeling invigorated and interesting. Probably because of all that fresh air.
My most NOT favorite dreams are the ones when I am standing in the lunch line at Miller Elementary and I realize I forgot to wear underwear, and my 2nd grade love interest just dumped me for a girl with a boy's name, and my teacher is leaning over me to help me with my Math but I can't concentrate because her shirt is showing her cleavage and she is trying to mask her coffee breath by chewing cinnamon gum. Sometimes my dreams are really vivid.
Worse than that are the dreams where someone is chasing me and I can't scream. I blame those on the rape seminar I attended when I was 12 years old back when I thought that people who kissed each other in movies wore some kind of invisible lip guard, because certainly they didn't actually kiss each other, on the lips, when they weren't even dating in real life. You see why I never pursued acting. That and the fact that when one turns a camera on me you may as well be asking Sean Penn to let out a good belly laugh during an Ellen interview. Not happening.
Last night I had a dream I had never had before. No chasing, no flying, no Sean Penn jokes; it was a different kind of dream entirely. I was...
That was my dream. I was standing at my kitchen sink and washing dishes. IN MY DREAMS.
Remember in 10th grade when you wanted the hottest senior boy to ask you out and pick you up in a red Ferrari and bring you a cake and kiss you over the lit candles (WITHOUT INVISIBLE LIP GUARDS) after your sister's wedding as he wished you Happy Birthday and your friend laughed at your fantasy and said, "Ha! IN YOUR DREAMS!" I guess I should have wished to do dishes ad nauseum over my kitchen sink wearing mom jeans because now I could totally call up that friend and be like, "Well, well, who's looking stupid now?"