That was my promise to myself when I started all this blogging thing. I promised myself solemnly that I'd never fill my blog with poetry or gothic ramblings, I wouldn't turn this into a dream diary, and I strongly promised myself that I'd never yell 'theatre' in a crowded fire.
Well, I'm going to bend one this morning.
Dreams. What is it with dreams? Reoccurring dreams that is. I haven't had that many here of late, that seemed to be a thing of my childhood for the most part, but last night I dreamed a previous dream wherein I was a zombie. An honest for-real zombie.
As a brief aside, for those of you who don't know me, I love zombies. Everything about the genre appeals to me. My favourite T-shirt is bright red and has a black pistol-gripped combat shotgun across the front, with the words "Zombie Repellent" emblazoned below and shotgun shells across the back.
So it was strange for me to dream of being a zombie. Stranger that I was a normal person apparently in a movie because not only was I me and aware that I was being filmed, I was also aware that the 'friends' with me were not really my friends, were in fact just another white guy and a token Asian guy. And when I got bit (as I had to be to become a shambling dead Irrelephant) I didn't feel anything, didn't remember any of it, was suddenly just like normal, only dead.
What a great line: "...was suddenly just like normal, only dead." Gotta love it.
So anyway, the dream proceeded with me and my 'buddies" as zombies, which meant we were still people, but like European soccer fans we were allowed to kill anyone we wanted to, and we really wanted to. And I've dreamed this exact dream before. That's the strangest part. Deja vu is odd enough without having it in a dream sequence.
And for those of you wondering, the answer is "no," I didn't get dispatched. I woke up before the theater-full of angry gun-toting zombie hunters got their tank all the way through the back wall.