My Old Boss Stole My Washing Machine

One of the strangest things about me are the endless, vivid, story-like dreams I have. Tim will swear up and down that my dreams are the wierdest he ever heard. And he took a class or two in wierd dreams, so he should know. It's kind of fun because each dream has a real narrative, character development and subtext. One of these days I'll be smart and start writing them down. Especially since I've twice dreamed what (years later) turned out to be blockbuster movies. Five years before Demi and Patrick (WHTO) Swayze were handed their scripts, I dreamed the entire plot of the movie Ghost. Ten years before Gwyneth I dreamed much of the story of Shakespeare In Love. Okay. Fair enough. I just dreamed about Shakespeare being in love with me. There was none of that Victor/Victoria crossdressing hi-larity in my sleep world. Nevertheless, the movie was called "Shakespeare in Love" and in my dream there was Shakespeare and he was in love so I'm going to count it.
I've occasionally had the woo-woo prophetic type of dream where a person I love is in trouble and I call them upon waking only to find out that, no they weren't being devoured by quicksand but yes, they do have a very bad chest cold. Occasionally my dead grandfather will show up for a game of chess or Scrabble. In that one Swedish movie the guy plays chess with death. In my dreams I play chess with a dead farmer who carried the mail in the winter. Kind of the same thing, but more lively.
Yes, I dream in color. Always. I always dream in English, although a few years ago when I was really fluent in Spanish I would have the occasional dream entirely in Spanish. What was weird is that each of those Spanish dreams featured Jesus Christ. It must have been because one of the ways I practiced my language skills was by reading the Bible in both languages. Because I didn't know any Spanish-speaking men named Jesus. In college when I studied Hebrew and German I had a few awkward Nazi dreams where one half of my language center was at war with the other. Thankfully that lasted only long enough to convince me to drop German. I hate that language. It's so literal, gutteral and harsh.
Last night I dreamed that a man from my old office stole my washing machine. The wierdest part (yes, it does get more strange) is that his wife was one of those Troll Dolls with the upsticking hair, and she kept pinching my stomach and lower back in a gesture of friendship. I truly don't get it. If they make a movie of that one I will NOT be there. Troll Dolls are creepy.