Jake Gyllenhaal came out of the closet and other silly stuff

This is totally off topic but ....

I had a dream last night (I've been reminded that there is nothing, nothing quite as boring as hearing about someone else's dream, unless you happen to be in it, which you're probably not soooo anyway) where I was writing in bed — I think I was working on my NaNoWriMo novel — when I looked up from my computer screen to see Jake Gyllenhaal coming out of my closet. I didn't want to intrude on his privacy and be a celebrity whore but I figured it was my bedroom after all so I said "Hey, sorry, but seeing as you're in my closet would you mind if I took your picture?"

"Sure" he said. Then he turned around and pulled down his pajama bottoms, not all the way, just enough to reveal a tattoo on the left cheek of what I imagine Jake Gyllenhaal's butt must really look like — a little meaty and well defined — and smiled as I snapped the photo. When I went to post the picture on Twitter, anticipating all the retweets the picture of Jake Gyllenhaal's bottom was going to get, I woke up, realizing it was but a dream.

I headed down the hallway and found my office where my assistant, a plain-looking, heavy-set blond woman, so busy working and making up packages to mail away that she barely looked up to acknowledge me. I told her about my dream and left wondering what she could possibly be working on since I didn't even remember I had an assistant. Right next door I slipped in through another open office where there were three young women in a light-filled room. One was sitting at a table like a receptionist, one was gliding about in an absurdist fanciful dress that was part Harlequin/part Cinderella at the ball. The third woman, slim and dark haired, sat at another table and every once in awhile grabbed hold of the Harlequin/Cinderella glider, like she had to put her back on track. I had the feeling they might all work for me too.

"She wants you to notice her dress" the desk bound receptionist type said.

"You're working in that?" I asked, as she glided back and forth, back and forth, a manic grin on her face. She didn't answer me, just leaned in my direction and grinned more ferociously. The dark-haired re-router got hold of the glider and set her straight on her path again.

"She's from New York," the receptionist said and I said "oh" as if it made sense that someone from New York would wear a dress like that to work.

Then as I was climbing the stairs —stairs that appeared out of nowhere, the way they do in dreams — a French woman came in with two adorable little dogs. They were small, hand-holdable black and grey dogs with dark charcoal smudges on their bellies and long floppy velvety ears. They were firm but squishy almost like beanie babies; they didn't make a sound, just looked at me with sad black eyes.

Weird because just the day before the same two little dogs had been in my home. They'd been so squishy cuddly and adorable I hadn't even worried about what they were doing in my apartment.
"Didn't I look after those dogs yesterday?" I asked the French woman, pausing on the stairs to pet the dogs.
"Yes. Thank you so much."
"But how?" I said, suddenly the notion struck me as odd.
"My friend Amy arranged it." And then she and her husband took the dogs and vanished instantly, as my husband appeared in their place.
"Honey" I said "Did you see those two cute little dogs? Because I think I looked after them yesterday and somebody called My Friend Amy set it up. And probably got paid for it."
He looked suitably concerned.
"Because I know I didn't. Oh and also? Apparently I have an assistant that I didn't know I had. I think I might have to fire her because we can't really afford to pay for an assistant to work for me when I don't have any work for her to actually do, can we?"

And then I woke up. For real this time.

I understand the Jake Gyllenhaal bit because I did wake up in the middle of the night — 3am — to help my son get off to work, and Jake Gyllenhaal was on Morning Joe talking about Night Crawler. I went back to bed after my boy left so it makes sense that Jake was buried in my sub-conscious. Any dream pro's out there that can make sense of the rest?

It's the first dream I've remembered in such a long time — they usually vanish as soon as I open my eyes — I'm curious to know why this one stuck. I have a feeling the silly woman gliding maniacally back and forth might be me!

Updated:11/11/2014
I have no clue why I bored you all with this. Every once in awhile I seem to use this space as a sort of online journal, a place to just jot out my thoughts. Sort of a journal, forgetting any of you are actually out there and might be reading it. You can't blame me; it's so rare that you leave a comment.
Bored? Please move on to something I'm proud of ...   

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