Congratulations to whoever slipped in through the shadows last night and decided to stick me with a tranquilizer. I wake up way too late for work and have been traveling at tortoise-on-valium velocity all day.
May have also been last nights dream. Something about a big cruise boat...that never gets off the ground...and there are shops and rain and a hostess that looks like an old highschool friend but with Betty Page style. Everywhere she walks turns the color and atmosphere into a technicolor 1950's "I'm In Paradise And Your Not" postcard. Outside on the cliffs we've come up against, there are giant waves. But in the place of sea-foam, tired looking people in sundresses and tattered shirts are being washed in and out to sea with the same steady stream as the crashing tides. In the end we take a tour through the ship that goes from rooms of glitter and purple glam to rooms in some deranged child's homemade haunted house. The ghosts and skeletons were real though. And as they close the door behind us to the pitch black inferno that we've entered, I wake up...
The night before last was a little less visual and far scarier...to me at least. I decided to go back to my wife's church. As the pastor I had never met walked down the aisle to shake everyone's hand, I held out mine with a smile and he simply glared at me. His face became extremely long and stern, the light on his silhouette reflected as though his now extremely large jaw and hands were made of stone and steel, ready to pelt me with the blue, black and orange book in his hands. The rest of the congregation gasped, slowly shrunk, and faded away through the walls.