Some miscellanious and random thoughts

05.10.00

I dreamed I was an opera singer, married to an opera singer (who bore more than a passing resemblace to David Duchovny, but that's neither here nor there), living in the basement of an abandoned museum that used to be a mental institution.

There were these pipes that fascinated me. I would crawl down them, and come back scared or enlightened or inspired. At some point, I found the set of an old production of Aida, and brought back the headpieces for me and the-nameless-hunky-husband. After yelling at me for going into the pipes again, he decided to check out the set with me.

We got down there, and there was an audience. They had tied wrists, straight jackets, and similar restraints. We got catcalls until we beagn the performance. We sang flawlessly.

After we escaped, we decided to move out of our dank basement. Somehow, we wound up on a talk show (still wearing our Aida headdresses), and they trotted out photos of us when we were kids, going to a production of Aida. Of course, we could see the people on the stage. It was us, wearing the same outfits as we had on. Nobody commented, though you could tell they all knew.

You could go all Freudian on me about this dream, and come up with a handful of (very) inaccurate conclusions.. I don't put much stock in his theories; my dreams are NOT a reflection on my sex life, or my sexual orientation. My dreams are my subconscious trying to entertain itself. Unless I'm stressing out over something. Then they're trying to find a solution. Really.