Mood: Hunky. With just a splash of Dory.
So, I've been having the dream again.
You know, the dream everyone has when they are stressed.
Yep. I've been dreaming I'm actually living inside the movie Alien. Only it's real life. And the whole time, as I'm running for my life, and no one is hearing me scream, because I'm in space, and in space no one can hear you scream... sorry. Run-on sentence.
Anyway, the whole time, I'm thinking to my self: "Please tell me I'm Ripley this time. Please." Because here's the catch. I'm never Ellen Ripley! And as we all know, Ripley is the only one who survives.
In fact, I can gauge how stressed I am in real life by the character I play in the dream.
Sometimes, when I'm in my happy place, I'm the chick with the short hair. The one who almost makes it to the end. But her death is the worst, because even though she outlasts many of the other crew members, she knows exactly what's coming.
Sometimes, I'm Dallas. He's the guy that kicks it in the tunnels, with the alien. I'm usually Dallas when I'm feeling a little cramped, a little claustrophobic- which, let's face it, is like, all the time. Because when Dallas goes in the tunnels to try and trap the alien, he can't stand upright. And that feeling is almost worse than when he gets alien drool sliming him from above. Almost.
*Which brings up a side point: How come they never see it coming from above? That's how the aliens get 'em. Whenever they come up with a "plan" I want to scream: "Look Up! Would you please just look up!"
And then, when I'm at my low point (like last week. I'm not sure if any of you noticed, but my parade was getting rained on all week) I'm the worst character of all. You all know who I'm talking about.
In these dreams, I spend the first half being suffocated by a face-sucker, and the second half trying to keep the alien spawn from exploding out of my rib cage.
No matter which character I am, I always end up running for my life.
Except for those rare instances where I try to negotiate with the alien, and convince him I'm really Ripley, and would he please step toward the air-lock so I can blast him out into space. Pretty please.
The dreams always end with me, bleeding out, and moaning something along the lines of: "But I'm supposed to be Ripley. Why am I not Ripley? Why do I have to be the "other chick"?"
Just once, I wanna throw someone-- Anyone!-- out the airlock. Just once.
So... how was your weekend?