Seuss Dreams

Are anyone else’s dreams directed by Dr Seuss, or is it just me?  Also, is the insanity of one’s dreams in direct correlation to that person’s sanity? Because if that’s the case, I am fucked. Also, is “Seuss” his real name, and is he really a doctor? What’s he a doctor of, besides silliness?  I like to imagine the good doctor is a gynecologist. I can see it now: laying out flat on that awkwardly cold pleather bed covered in paper, gazing up at the ceiling in shame as the doc reaches for the mid evil stretching device and crooning “now just relax and open the hatch, I’m putting this thing up your snatch!” And then I wouldn’t know whether to crack up laughing or just get up and run out nekkid all Peter Griffin style, while simultaneously on the phone with the doctor police.  And what if I did laugh and my… Ahem… Basement (isn’t that a nicer name than snatch?) got all clenched up and the doc would say “I said to relax, you’re a pain in my rear, now open that door, let’s do this Pap smear!” And then he laughs all manically like Steve Martin on laughing gas in Little Shop of Horrors. (Pausing while that amazing image takes over your brain).

But anyway, I digress. Shit, which I have to do one more time. You know how on Dexter, his father Harry is in almost every episode as Dexters conscience?  Well my conscience is my boss and good friend Abe. So when I said “I digress” what I was really thinking was of Abe telling me to Focus… stay on target…. That sort of thing is required when you’re me. 

Ok digression over. Dr Seuss dreams. I’m one of those people who dreams about going pee repeatedly until my brain wakes me up enough to actually get up and pee and I’m terrified that one day I’ll pee the bed.  Hopefully my marriage is closer to the tenure stage when that finally happens.  Last night one of my pee dreams took place in my ex-mother in law’s basement where, with her blessing, I stretched out a blue towel and peed on the floor because my only other option was to crawl into a dog crate and do it in there and I was too fat to fit in the crate. 

Today’s blog comes with two lessons for me: take less sleeping pills lest you pre-maturely pee all over a sleeping Bear; and you must, you must lose some weight, or you’ll never be able to pee in the crate!

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