dream journal

Dream Journal: Going to Disneyland!

Ok, crazy dream time, so strap in and listen up.

So I’m sitting in Disneyland’s parking lot with my friend, let’s call her Scarlet. And we aren’t going IN to the park, just chilling in a handicap space near the front where we can see all the people flooding inside. I want to join the flood, become one of the sheeple, join the ranks of the mindless horde headed for good times and overpriced food. But Scarlet is pooped. So we’re chilling underneath this handicap parking sign, Scarlet’s napping in a sleeping bag (because why wouldn’t we have sleeping bags?) and I’ve got my dog, Link, with me. Like usual, my white puppers is covered in mud because he hates me. So I’m petting him, playing fetch, all the while waiting for Scarlet to wake up so we can head inside.

Scarlet pops up unexpectedly and shouts “I’m ready!”

I shout “Finally!” and we mosey on in.

I don’t know where are stuff disappears to because I’m more worried about my dog. So I decide to put him into my bag. Because yeah, I can totally fit my border collie 2-year-old dog into a canvas tote you buy at the grocery store for, you know, groceries.

Magically, he fits, with his head sticking out and security just lets us march on through.

We’re headed toward the fun rides (I mean, the scary drops, wicked speeds, sharp turns FUN RIDES) when Scarlet sees one she wants to do.

This sucker is like a giant water slide except it’s in the shape of a ring suspended fifty feet up in the air. There’s a rickety wooden staircase leading up to the top. And instead of plummeting down when you step into the ring, you spin around like our pockets are freaking full of posies. Ashes, ashes, you just keep spinning around this ring instead of falling down but whatever, Scarlet wants to do it, and screw gravity, apparently.

So I’m freaking out internally because I’ve got a muddy dog with paws that will shred through the fabric of the ring in my bag but Scarlet wants to do it and she’s already dashing that way.

We get in line, get through the line, and are up next when I ask the dude running the ride if he can hold my bag for me.

He says put it in a locker.

I say it has a dog in it.

He says, “Right on,” takes the bag, and straps us into this Issac Newton-hating ride.

We’re ready to go when I see Link running around this water-circle-defying-physics ride (which does sound fun), getting it muddy and slashing at the material (like that slippery stuff actual water slides you play with in your front yard are made of) and I start shouting at him to come over to me.

He doesn’t, of course, and the people in line behind us are making snide and rude comments about me and him in the quiet-but-meant-to-be-heard voices snooty people use. And my dog, MY DOG, won’t come when I’m calling.

Because he’s having fun being a terror.

And just when I have the thought that I should have named him Ganon instead of Link, I wake up.


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