you can call me olga

Lately, something strange has been going on in my sleep. Or maybe I just haven't been sleeping well (I do know this much). Whatever the cause, my dreams have arrived at a new level of weird this week. It is normal for me to have dreams that leave me feeling a little cuckoo and I could probably make an entire blog series out of them. Really, they are that weird. But, for now, I will leave you with one that left me feeling particularly unbalanced this morning.

This is a repetitive dream for me. Kind of like the cliche "falling" dream. It is always the same dream in the beginning but about halfway through something changes and takes it in a different direction. For a long time, it was sort of like Bella's dream in New Moon (don't you want to punch me in the face for making this reference?) in the way that it is mostly predictable to a point and it always leaves me feeling confused when I wake. But now, it is totally taking on a life of its own and rocking my midnight world. Seriously, can't even make this stuff up.

How it starts, every time*: I am some sort of mysterious Russian spy. No one tells me this or ceremoniously dubs me worth of carrying out spy activities. I just know that my name is Olga, I am a spy and that I am carrying classified ticking-time-bomb kind of information (Usually in an ordinary envelope but sometimes in my vintage Hummel music box.). I am in the middle of a pasta wilderness and, in order to get to wherever I'm going, I have to navigate my way through chutes made of hollow pasta. Sometimes it takes many chutes, steps and ladders to get to the end, where I typically end up in a bowl of noodles, swimming and struggling my way to the edge. And at this point, the variation begins.

Last night, I started out in usual spy-envelope-macaroni-slide style but at the end of the slide, instead of landing in a pit of linguine, I land gracefully in the middle of a Manhattan Starbucks. I am dressed like a less crazy version of Mary Kate Olsen, circa 2006 (I think this came from watching the third season of Weeds). Louboutin heels, big ugly sunglasses on the table, hair all a mess and some coffee deliciousness on the table in front of me. I am trying to be cool and discreet until Lil Bow Wow walks in (to get the story behind me and LBW, you're gonna have to ask Brittany. I am too ashamed to tell it here). Luckily, I brought my camera along so I snap a Myspace-style picture with Bow Wow and get back to spy business. However, UNluckily, this grabs the attention of The Donald who is sitting two tables down, next to the window. He approaches me and says, "I know," then spins on his heel and leaves the building. I put on my ginormous sunglasses, walk outside, snap my fingers to cue the rain (apparently I can make it rain?), and follow him all the way to Tiffany & Co. It is there that I lose him but remember that I have to pick up my telepathic earpiece on the seventeenth floor (is there even a seventeenth floor at Tiffany's?... I'm pretty sure there isn't). I hop on the elevator and the little elevator-butler-guy (who just so happens to be Johnny Depp's Willy Wonka) winks, takes the envelope and hits the "Kraft Mac N Cheese" button. We shoot through the roof and I am furious because we missed the second floor. I say something in Russian and he tells me to "QUIT MUMBLING! MUMBLER!" and at that moment the elevator becomes Skybar in Auburn, AL and we are dancing to 17th floor (this was like a rap/hip hop cover band that used to come to Auburn a lot, especially during football season). I go to use the restroom and when I walk back out, I am in the Manhattan Starbucks again.

Whew. Anyone into dream interpretation? Do you have a repetitive dream like this? What is the craziest thing to ever happen in your dreamland?

*Except for the one time I started out in a McDonald's playplace and had to find the informational time-bomb in the ballpit.