The waitress came and I ordered Eggs Benedict and orange juice.
She said, “Benedict and….?”
I said, “Orange juice.” She looked puzzled. I said, “Orange juice,” like five more times. She didn’t understand. I finally gave up and ordered coffee.
This is what my dreams are always like. Something doesn’t work. There’s always a problem. If I’m in a gun fight the bullets just kind of ooze out of my gun as the villain’s bullets whiz by. If I’m ordering breakfast I lose the ability to say orange juice. I wonder what this says about me? Maybe I should see a shrink.
In another dream I had I invented the concept of dark noir. A way of filming that gets to a climax in the scene and then the screen just goes black and allows the viewer to imagine what’s happening. In my dream the concept was genius. In my waking life it made no sense at all. Oh well, back to the salt mines. Did you know that salt was once more valued than gold? Now they just say too much of it is bad for you. What if they decided gold was bad for you? Would people just say, “Oh well, back to the gold mines”? That was a lot funnier in my head than it was in black and white. Oh well, back to the gold mines.
The funniest part about the orange juice dream is that what I really wanted to drink was a glass of red wine but even in my dream it didn’t make sense to order wine with breakfast. See, there again I have no ability, even in my dreams, to truly express myself. So what if I ordered red wine for breakfast? It’s a dream for pity sakes. So I order orange juice, which apparently I’ve lost the ability to say and settle on coffee. There’s a truly deep message in there somewhere. Maybe I should see a shrink.