I am a man of few talents, but there is this one thing that I do: Sometimes, I have precognitive dreams. No, not the kind that allow me a brief glimpse into future events, but rather I occasionally foresee dreams that haven’t been dreamt yet. Dreams that are not my own.
I first noticed this amazing power a few years back when, one day in the break room at work, I overheard a co-worker relate one of her own dreams to somebody, and was shocked to realize that I had that dream just a week before. “Anyway, the next thing I know is that I’m falling for, like, a really long time. And then I woke up!”
Wow! I thought. I had that exact, same dream!
Clearly, I’m like one of those people on Heroes (only not attractive or interesting). It therefore behooves me to use my eerie mental powers to assist humankind. Unfortunately, I never know who it is who will wind up eventually having the dreams I foresee, and sometimes the event doesn’t take place for quite some time after my initial precognition. Still, if it helps somebody, well then I’ve done my job. I hereby present dreams that you might possibly experience, sometime within the next six to 182 months. Don’t worry – there’s still time to never sleep again!
Game Time
It’s been a hell of a game, but your team has given as good as it got. With mere seconds left in the fourth quarter, you’re fouled by one of your opponents as you go in for a layup, and now you find yourself standing at the free-throw line. The adrenaline is turning sour in your veins, but you’re confident – it was your epic, last-minute drive that put the score at 101 to 102 in the other team’s favor, and you know you’ve got a hot hand. You set up for your first shot, but suddenly the sweat clinging to your body goes ice cold. Your hands begin to shake. You start to realize that you are surrounded by a massive crowd, all eyes on you, while wearing only a pair of shorts and a loose-fitting tank top! You forget about the free-throw, completely embarrassed, and all you want to do is go home. You start to cry, a little. You wake up on the couch, buried under Taco Bell wrappers. (Then you start to cry, a little.)
I Do, But I Didn’t
It’s your big day, at last. All the preparation and wrangling of drunk, combative family members has finally paid off, as you gaze into the eyes of your beautiful spouse to be — and you’re pretty sure some distant relative put a pair of iPhones on the gift table, too. The weather is perfect, the honeymoon is booked, and the DJ has promised, really promised, to be sober by the time everybody gets to the reception. It’s the best day of your life.
And now everybody’s waiting for you to say “I do”, your last public act as a single person. It’s the moment you’ve been mentally preparing yourself for since – hang on a second. What time is it? Your mouth hangs open in a silent scream as you realize that something has gone horribly wrong. Your partner looks at you with deep concern, but all you can do is grab that idiot’s shoulders, shaking them violently, eyes wide with horror. “What’s wrong?” the officiant asks?
“Oh my god!” you shout, your voice echoing through the hall. “I just realized – I forgot to program the Tivo to record Pants Off Dance Off!”
You wake up in the tub, buried under empty beer cans.
Come Fly With Me
You’re not afraid to fly, really. But you still get anxious just before the plane takes off. Somehow, in those brief seconds, it just doesn’t seem possible that things like heavy aircraft, surly flight attendants, business managers from Witchita, and thousands of tiny little bags of peanuts, could be safely flung into the air without causing some sort of catastrophic incident. As usual, though, everything went according to plan, and you are now on your way to Chicago. You lay your head back against the seat. Everything’s going to be just fine.
You look over towards the seat next to yours, and spot a kindly old person looking back at you, smiling. “You know, I’ve always loved flying,” says the charming senior. “I was born exactly ten years after the Wright Brothers flew their first plane, at Kitty Hawk. It was a red-letter day, let me tell you. People were still talking about it. Do you like to fly?” At this point you look down to see a wrinkly hand covering your wrist.
“Alright, that’s enough of that, you two,” says the man in the seat behind you – Ron, your official Dating Game chaperon.
You wake up on a beanbag, buried under sleeping cats.
