Lately I’ve been dreaming about the demise of Los Angeles. Not daydreams, mind you. Real dreams. The subconscious kind.
Sometimes the dream is set right before the imminent destruction of the city. Sometimes it’s right after, and all I can do is survey the charred carnage surrounding me. Sometimes the dream focuses on Los Angeleans fleeing the city, trying to escape our collective doom. I once even dreamt that all the downtown skyscrapers were getting swallowed up into the earth. Pretty messed up, eh? Yet no matter the details regarding these dreams, one variable remains the same: I’m as cool as a cucumber throughout the whole thing.
I’ve been experiencing these twisted visions for nearly a month now, but have no idea what it means. Am I a modern day Nostradamus who can actually see the future? Am I perhaps tapping into some forthcoming LA disaster? Will it be an earthquake? Fire? Nuclear war? Or maybe this is just a subconscious outlet for my sometime frustration with the City of Angels and the parts of it I like least such as the awful drivers, the disgusting smog, Jay Leno. I may not love this place 24/7, but hand to heart, I swear I don’t want to see it wiped from the map forever. Where would I get my Cantaloop?
Yet most alarming is that I never get upset in these dreams. Just what the hell is up with that? I’m witnessing the deaths of millions of people, but it doesn’t faze me. Shouldn’t that be a red flag? Isn’t having no regard for human life the mark of a sociopath? During one dream, I was viewing the ruins of the city from a military helicopter, but you’d think I was on some touristy aerial tour of the Hawaiian Islands, I was so zen about the whole thing. Maybe I can write that one off as a “no use in crying over spilled milk” kind of deal, but I’m just as emotionally void when dreaming about LA prior to Armageddon. And it’s not like I’m clueless about the approaching catastrophe either; I just can’t be bothered about it. Instead, I choose to watch everyone else freak out while sipping on a refreshing mojito. (Okay, the last part’s not true. Come to think of it, I’ve never had a dream where I’m eating or drinking anything. Have you?)
At times I wish I didn’t remember my dreams. I have plenty of friends that make such a claim; they can’t recall a thing about their subconscious adventures the night before. Not me. I think it might be genetic – I come from a family that values the almighty REM cycle above all else – so rarely does a night go by where I don’t wake up the next morning and think, “What in the world was that about?” or “Dammit, alarm clock! Things were just getting good!” I suppose there could be worse afflictions.
Alas, I remember everything… And aside from my “LA becomes a smoking pit of misery” dreams, I frequently conjure the classics as well. There’s the one where I’m taking an exam, but of course I didn’t study at all. Or I oversleep in my dream and wake up in my dream to realize that I missed the exam altogether. Sometimes I’m running to class with the pathetic hope that I still have enough time to finish the test. As you might have noticed, I have these dreams quite a bit as well. They in particular are extremely upsetting, as I was a HUGE nerd in school. Then there’s the dream with my teeth falling out. I really hate that one because my teeth actually did fall out – or rather were shattered – and I’ve been severely traumatized ever since. (An very unfortunate pompon incident my sophomore year of high school.) Or there’s the dream where I can’t run away fast enough from whatever deranged serial killer who wants to chop me up into a million pieces. That’s a good one.
Some dreams are rad, though. Ever dream that you can fly? OMG, I love those! I would definitely choose flying to be my special power. A close second? Stopping time ala Out of This World. But even more awesome would be if I could actually tell that I was in a dream. How exactly do people do this? I have never, never, ever experiencing lucid dreaming. And given how much I do dream, it’s such a tease. Of course, then I had to go see Inception. Pour salt in wound.
Regardless, I love my dreams. Even the ones that make me wonder if I might just be one precarious notch down from Dexter. They remind me that the human mind is amazing. A mysterious, complex machine capable of so much. And if I could just figure out how to manipulate my dreams, then I could become Ultimate Ruler of Los Angeles. I would definitely implement some major changes. No one over the age of 65 and/or with an IQ of under 65 could drive. Period. A two-bedroom shack with questionable plumbing and termite issues would cost $60K, not $600K. And Leno would be reassigned to do public access in Hatchechubbee, Alabama.