It all started on a pretty normal Wednesday is small town USA. I finished the work day at the normal town on a normal day and drove my normal way to go vsit and a have an evening beer or two at the normal watering hole. Generally, I try to get out of there at aout 8:00 p.m. to give myself enough time to eat, get a few things done if need be, and wind down to ed my night. By my second beer, I was having a pretty good conversation or two with an old friend of mine regarding fantasy football. 7:30 rolled around and another friened of mine showed up and I began tlaking to her. I don't think she meant to be there for more than a few minutes, so we were both procrastinating pretty well. After a few shots and a few more beers, the track of time was lost and 9:00 was soon upon me. I said my goodbyes and went home.
I got home about 9:15 and skipped my evening meal. I decided to simply grab some Netflix and some couch time as the night was drawing to a close and I needed to wind down a bit before I hit the sack. I flipped on over to the remainder of Airplane! from the other night and watched that until about 11:15 after messing around on the internet for about thirty minutes. Within about ten minutes I was fast asleep.That night, I dreamed. I must have been dreaming the entire time but it's really difficult to say. I don't generally dream that I remember. But then again, in order to remember my dreams I must wake up in the middle of them. As fate would have it, that's exactly what happened.
At 4:35 a.m. I awoke suddenly from a deep alcohol ladened sleep, confused and momentarily energized. After a brief delay, my mind was flooded with memories of the dream in which I was involved just momens before. In my dreams and for some strange, unknown reason, I was in a hospital bed complete with a hospital garb. There was a faceless attendant at my side and the hospital was dark execpt for the ight around me. As I looked over to my left, the "camera" panned to the front of the home where my grandparents lived for years - the same home that my grandfather built with his own two hands. I could see the side door and the carpot, and the driveway that led from the house to the outside world. Emanating from the scene was some sort of indistinguishable music not unlike that of a rock concert. At that point, the person in my dream who was me began to remember something that supposedly happened in the past relative to the setting of the dream. At one time, I must have tried to get in to see Whitesnake but was denied by this woman ticketeer who said I couldn't get n because I didn't have tickets. Well, the music I heard was Whitesnake, and when David Coverdale began to sing "Slow and Easy" he magically appeared on a second stage between me in the hospital bed and the dor to my grandparents' home. Now, David Coverdale was rocking. He had the mic and he was twirling it around and belting out mad tunes. He was the epitomy of 80's glam metal. But strange to this scene was that his band members were non-existent. Whitesnake's music just seemed to push through from some other dimension and follow him around to accompay him wherever he went.
As soon as David Coverdale began rocking the mic on the other stage, all the people from the concert began flooding the front of the stage to continue whatever concert he was holding at the time. I took this opportunity to appear a few meters from the stage to run over there and join the oncoming crowd. After all, I wanted to go to the concert too and rock out with Whitesnake and David Coverdale. But as soon as I got up to the crowd's edge, that same ticketeer confronted me asking "Where's my tickets?". She barred my entry into the festivities. All of a sudden, David Coverdale stopped and yelled over the microphone. "Hell No! If that little fucker didn't pay, get him te hell out of here!" /I could see my face lit up with suprise ad embarassment as te entire crowd and the ticketeer looked at me with accusing stares. I was punked by David Coverdale. That sunuvabitch.
The dream ended there. I woke up. I guess, in some sort of strange way, David Coverdale got his wish. I guess in some crazy manner, the ticketeer had mystical power. Together, tey jetisoned me out of my own dream. For a brief moment, I grinned while I sat up in bed. When I realized what had happened, I became a tad bit miffed. I said to myself, "Just for that, David Coverdale, I'm going back to bed and I'm going to dream your ass into a dark alley!" A tiny manical laugh escaped my subconscious as I layed my head back on the pillow. That's the last thing I remember before I woke up to get ready for work.
Now, I'm sure Freud would probably have a field day with this one. I don't really take much stock in dream inerpretation, however. But if there was anything to gather from this experienct it's that we don't have as much control over our dreams as some of you may think. Once your consciousness subsides, you are no longer master of your own domain. Second, don't mess with David Coverdale. If you do, he will punk you too. I n order to combat David Coverdale, I will have to do research into what character should be manifested in the dream to combat David Coverdale. In the meantime, t's best to stay clear of him. Finally, if you're going to pass out after a night of beers and friends, make sure you have nounresolved issues with legalities, moralities, and your conscience. I for one can't really pinpoint the whole not having tickets issue that seemed to pop up at the concert in the dream, but I like to think it probably had something to do with my subconsciousness tapping into my conscience.
Oh, and if you see that ticketeer, tell her I'm looking for her and I got her tickets.
Invino Veritas
9/29//11
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