Last night I was fairly stressed out about work when I went to bed. The result?
Nope. You weren't there. Whew.
A never-ending dream that I was one of the finalists on American Idol. We had thirty minutes to choose a song (from a selection of ten options), practice it, then perform it live on television. Unfortunately, I didn’t know ANY of the song options. I’d heard a few of them before, but not well enough to even guess at the lyrics convincingly. And also? All the songs were originally performed by men in falsetto, which put them out of range for my limited voice.
I sat bolt upright in bed at 2am, heart racing and sweating.
Know how I calmed myself down? By replaying the dream in my head and realizing the Simon Cowell had been no where to be found, so it couldn’t possibly have been THE American Idol. Oddly, that put me at ease – at least enough to fall back asleep.
Two hours later – I sat up in bed again. Because Simon wasn’t on the last season of Idol.
But rather than panicked, for some odd reason, this realization caused me to feel like I’d solved an Encyclopedia Brown mystery. (Remember those? A squirrel can’t BACK down a tree! Ah ha!)
And yes, I realize this post violates two rules of interesting writing: 1) It makes no sense; 2) It bores you with a dream.
Sorry. What can I say? I didn’t sleep well.
I never claimed I could sing the phonebook.
pithypants 