Snack-Sized

Captain's bLog: 17 weeks.

I dreamed I was having a long-term affair with an animated superhero-type (specifically, Metro Man). He was always so busy with superhero stuff that we didn't get to spend much time together, until one day some shit went down at a big cocktail party and he scooped me up and flew me to safety atop a nearby building.

This was surprising to me, because if anything it's Megamind I have a crush on. One thing celebrity sex dreams have taught me, however, is that I do not get to pick my celebrities. Just one of life's little disappointments, amirite? We live in a time where I could almost certainly find sexy fan fiction about Megamind online if I were so inclined, but, like, hard no to that. (That so many people write terrible shit and post it online where it has the opportunity to infect other people's brains is IMHO one of life's big disappointments.)

I also thought I had already experienced every type of flying dream one could possibly have; the superhero scoop was a new one for me. Not quite so fun as self-propelled flying dreams, but still pretty rad. 8/10.

There was a third level of surprise in my Metro Man dream that does involve some elements of sexy fanfic, but saying even that much makes me feel dangerously close to infecting other people's brains with things they never wished to think so I will stop myself there - anything your brain conjures about sexy Metro Man after this point is entirely your own doing.

Anyway, the whole point of this is to say: I will never be famous. That was never my goal - in fact, it sounds pretty terrible - but notice how you don't ever hear famous people saying they dreamed they had an affair with a cartoon character, or got a free book with their grocery purchase, or bought a 4-pack of cigarettes. Famous people have big, juicy, meaningful dreams. They dream famous works of art, literature, cinema, music - I read that David Bowie was inspired to write the song Five Years by a dream of his deceased father, and I was like, now this is a dude who dreams in full-size packs of smokes.

I will never be famous because my dreams - literal and figurative - are simply not famous-sized. They are... snack-sized. Dare I say, blog-sized. But I'm not at all sad about this - I've searched around my brain and discovered that my smallish dreams are just fine by me. (And honestly, why can't you buy a 4-pack of cigarettes? That is precisely the level of commitment I appreciate in my life.) On that note, I will leave you with this final dream: I dreamed that DH whispered in my ear that he wanted me to eat his donuts. I was briefly concerned that this was some sort of disturbing innuendo, but lo and behold he was actually covered in small donuts! The tiny chocolate eclair he had stuck to his shin was particularly nice, but I also enjoyed a cinnamon-sugar Timbit from his chest and a mini powdered donut from his shoulder.

This dream was utterly meaningless and inspired exactly zero great artistic works, but it was fun and pleasant and about as perfectly snack-sized as those wee assorted donuts - or these blogs. Why not enjoy a few with your coffee today?