Last night, I dreamed I was watching a sitcom. I woke up from the dream (or thought I woke up from the dream) thinking that it was actually pretty good and that if I were in charge of making a sitcom, I would add those elements to it.
But as I was lying in bed, thinking about this, I heard someone moaning my name. I turned and saw some guy dressed in white pajamas with a towel covering his head creeping up to my bed. He leaned closer. At this point, I wondered if I was still dreaming. I tried to move, but I was completely paralyzed. I was actually aware that part of me was still half asleep and my brain had yet to hand my motor control back to me.
“How was India?” he asked.
What? I’ve never been to India.
“How was the fish?”
But I had chicken for dinner.
And then he lifted up his leg as if he was about to climb into bed. That’s when I got really mad. If it was a dream, he’d soon go away, but if he wasn’t–there was the matter of how the hell he got into my apartment in the first place. At that moment, I totally intended to kick his ass.
I woke up yelling and pummeling empty air.