Chili, appendages and commonplace heroes
Over the last week or so, I’ve had minidreams, where I wash my hands and leave lots of suds in the sink. Along comes this lady I’ve only seen on memes on social media, who starts yelling in a German accent, that I left soap in the sink AGAIN. (I think she is a character from Austin Powers, but since I never watched that, I’m not 100 percent certain.) I apologize profusely and make up some lame excuse about why I didn’t have time to clean it out. She accepts this, nods and turns away in a huff, and I am allowed to dream something else.
Weird, right? Nah, not even close.
The other night – all night long, in fact – I dreamed about normal, every day chores. Hold on, I’m getting to the weird part. As I went about my household chores, the police would come and tell me I had to complete things in 12s. Washing the bowls? Must wash 12 of them.
Taking out recycling. Must have 12 cans. Folding towels. Must fold 12 of them. Mopping the floor. Must mop 12 tiles (there are no tiles in the house). If I failed to do any of these things the police specified in 12s, they threatened to haul me away to jail.
Naturally, being a law-abiding citizen, I made sure each task was done in 12s, but I cried each time the police popped in, because I didn’t want to be sent “up the river.” You can imagine how exhausted I was by the time I woke up the next morning.
You’d think that would be the ultimate weird dream, but you thought wrong.
To start my new week, I woke up from possibly the weirdest dream I’ve ever had, and that’s saying a lot, considering I once spent my dream on the run in an abandoned hospital and made friends with the zombies chasing me.
Anyway, this dream was once again tinged with normalcy. I was in my own home/work setting and was trying to find a place to store a couple things I had fallen heir to, not unlike what happens in real life. Doesn’t sound weird at all, right? Wait for it.
The things I’d fallen heir to, were two arms. Not real arms, I think they were like arms that came off a mannequin. But here’s the kicker. They were made of chili.
Yeah, you did read that right. I said chili, as in the spicy, thick, soup-like stuff you eat and win contests with. Chili. Arms made of chili.
It sounds like it would be messy, but the arms weren’t messy like chili gets. They held together like real arms, although, when you touched them, they squished a little, but didn’t leave any residue on your skin or whatever surface they touched.
Anyhow, the point of the dream, was that I had to find someplace to store them and for a reason that wasn’t made clear, I knew I couldn’t keep them, nor could I store them in the offi ce. I had to find someone to take them, which proved easier said than done.
I begged, pleaded, bribed and searched in vain, but no individual, no organization, no business, no non-profit, would take the arms off my hands, even if I paid them, on account of COVID, they said. What that has to do with it, I’ll never know.
Finally, as my dream wound down, I had the arms clasped to my chest, crying, when my real-life hero, Kathy Swanson, became my dream hero, and offered to take them, but insisted they had to stay in her garage, not her house. I happily accepted and the dream mercifully ended.
For anyone who knows Kathy, she truly is a knight in shining armor and given that she helps me, and anyone else in need, no matter the situation, I shouldn’t have been surprised she took the arms.
Poor Kathy. She can’t get out of helping people, even in dreams.
After dreaming about arms made of chili, I think that about sums up what my mental state is and if anyone has a psychology degree, and wants to analyze me, well, you’ve been warned. It could be a bumpy and confusing ride.
For me, I’m just going to chuck it up to being a weird person and pray I never have that dream again. There is one thing that really bothers me, though.
I didn’t even have chili before I went to bed.
