
I was riding the other day with me carpool husband (and yes, he has now become my carpool husband since I tried it and it worked), and he said something the other day that really got me thinking.
He was talking about a dream he had where I was in it (playing a leading role of course) and there were other bit players in his dream that he called "dream extras". I thought that term was very interesting, and it got me thinking about all of the dream extras are in my dreams sometimes, and how in the world they got there to begin with.
You know what I am talking about...you are walking down the the sidewalk in front of your house, and there is David Hasselhoff running towards you in his Baywatch trunks to rescue your second grade teacher, Mrs. Brining, from the grips of a horrible rip tide occuring in the ocean that had been your street...then you wake up.
Or, you are cooking dinner and turn around and Lady Gaga is dancing the salsa with Cat Deeley with Mary Murphy screaming they are on the hot tamale train while your secretary is doing a beer pong in the corner...then you wake up.
Don't you wonder how your brain puts together people from the past, with someone you saw on television, with your co-worker, and sprinkle in random passerbys you saw in the cafeteria line at work?
These, my friends, are the dream extras.
There are actual starring roles. For example, I am always in the spotlight in my own dreams, and my co-stars (of lower billing, of course) have some major parts. But the Dead Male Body under the sheet played by your nosy neighbor, or the Hooker #3 on the corner played by your barber's daughter are all played by these random dream extras that would never be caught dead together in real life.
Why does your brain do these things?
If only I could remember these dreams explicitly, I could easily be able to write an article for the next issue of People magazine. I would be rich, rich, rich, and possibly to be able to hire better dream extras than what just is laying around waiting to be picked up for an 8 month season contract.
Oh lord, there is no way in hell-o kitty that David Hasselhoff would ever be able to rescue Mrs Brining from the grips of a horrible rip-tide...
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