Dream Police

I have been having some messed up dreams as of late.  Pretty much since our weekend away.  Some of the dreams are eerily realistic while others are down right bizarre.  A part of me feels like it’s another reality.  The dream world where anything is possible.  A place where money doesn’t buy happiness.  A land of insanity that spills from one moment to the next.

Or none of that.  Maybe it’s my brain rebooting for the next waking moment.  Clearing out an old cache of half memories and useless information.  My brain doing a vitals check and moving through my body one organ and limb at a time.  A verification that I’m still here.  All of this coming through as dreams.

Perhaps I need someone to control my thoughts and subconscious as I try and rest.  Time for me to call The Dream Police.  Or at least relive some bad song lyrics that remind me of Guitar Hero 3. 

I try to sleep

They’re wide awake

They won’t let me alone

They don’t get paid to take vacations

Or let me alone

They spy on me

I try to hide

They won’t let me alone

They persecute me

They’re the judge and jury all in one

‘Cause they’re waiting for me

Looking for me

Every single night

(They’re) driving me insane

Those men inside my brain

The dream police

They live inside of my head

The dream police they come

To me in my bed

The dream police

They’re coming to arrest me.

Ah Guitar Hero 3.  A time years ago when I realized my wife is far superior than I am at videogames.  My lack of music ability would shine through.  My hand eye coordination failing miserably as I twanged every missed note on a plastic guitar shaped controller.

I worry that now she will want to relive her glory days.  Assert her power over me.  Prove her dominance in the area of videogames.

For the moment, I wish for that to be a dream: a distant memory that I could scrub from my mind.  But I know my wife won’t allow that to happen.  She enjoys keeping the Guitar controllers on display.  A trophy of how great she once was.