Nate Bjork

I dreamt I stole a car because I was on a road trip and my own car broke down hours away from home. I got caught and had to go to prison.

For some reason I was sentenced to serve my sentence in a prison in Florida so the prison bus trip was a really long one. At the beginning of the trip I went to the front of the bus to register and they gave me my uniform and paperwork and name tag. They told me to just put the name tag in my pocket since no one in prison actually wears their name tag. I made a joke about how having a name tag would undermine the whole “prison nickname” thing. They didn’t laugh but I guess it’s cause guards shouldn’t fraternize with prisoners.

I asked if the prison had a music room or any musical instruments and they said no. I said, “Man, prison sucks!” All the other prisoners on the bus started laughing so I went with it. I started riffing about it. “Whose ass do I have to murder to get a guitar up in this bitch?!?” I was killing it. Then the bus broke down. I was all, “We could steal a car but the last time I did that I ended up on a shitty prison bus that doesn’t even run!” More laughter from the other prisoners. I thought to myself, “maybe prison won’t be so bad.” Then I remembered the toilets don’t have lids to sit on.

Last night I had two dreams that I remember. I woke up a few times and think I forgot some details, but here’s what I remember.

Dream 1: Jim Dalton, lead guitarist for Roger Clyne and the Peacemakers, was sick so I got tapped to sub in for him. Setting up before the show, I desperately tried to remember Dalton’s guitar and pedal setup from the one time I saw them perform live. I could barely remember where he stood on stage. Roger Clyne asked me if I was sure I knew what I was doing and I was all, “duh, of course I do” but I didn’t. Then I remembered that we had roadies so I let them set it up. I spent the rest of the time pre-show by messing around with the drumkit. A smart person would’ve spent that time actually learning the guitar parts.

Dream 2: I had a new job in London. It was my first day on the job and my first day in the UK in general. I was on the subway to work. I’m not even sure if London has subways – my entire knowledge of contemporary English culture comes from The IT Crowd, Queer As Folk, The Inbetweeners, and Skins. Oh, and Sherlock. Anyway, there were a bunch of rowdy kids on the subway dressed in weird costumes. Like dressed like monsters and cowboys and stuff. Then I saw adults also dressed this way. I approached a regular-looking woman and asked what was up with the costumes. She explained in a really thick accent that I could barely understand that this was “No Hand-Me-Downs Day” in the UK. Historically, this was a holiday celebrated by wearing clothes no one else has worn. Since then it has devolved into a sort-of British Halloween. We shared a laugh at the irony in the fact that on “No Hand-Me-Downs Day” most of the people got their costumes from thrift shops. (Later, upon awakening, I realized that I had missed an opportunity to zing this woman. I should have asked her to remove her fake teeth so I could understand her better. Then I would have been all Burn Notice! USA: Characters Welcome.) When I got to work (remember, this was my first day), I pretended I was dressed as an American for British Halloween. Everyone was impressed with my ability to do an American accent. I used English idioms but said them in my accent, as I imagined how an English person trying an American accent would do it. Like, instead of “It’s time for lunch,” I’d say, “It’s time for lunch isn’t it” but with an American accent.

Armchair psychologists out there: I realize that both these dreams involve me pretending I’m someone I’m not. That’s not lost on me. Don’t overthink it.

I dreamed I got catfished by a lady very similar to the lady from Catfish. I showed up to her place and she had a son who was like six years old or something. Don’t remember his name. He was neglected because his mom was self-involved so I took him under my wing. We went somewhere, I don’t remember where. Me and him. Maybe a circus or the zoo or something. On the way home we took a shortcut through a field and a huge Tyrannosaurus Rex showed up and started chasing us. The T-Rex caught the kid and bit off an arm and a leg. I punched the T-Rex in the face and it ran away. I needed to stop the bleeding and the kid didn’t want to mess up his own scarf so I had to tie off the stump of his arm with my really fancy and expensive scarf that was a gift from my mother. Even though the kid’s scarf was rubbish.

I brought the boy back to his house and told them to take the kid to the emergency room. His parents were all, “but we don’t have insurance,” but I was all, “it doesn’t matter! He’ll die! Just take the kid to the emergency room and pay the medical bills from the money you get when you sue the jerk who has a dinosaur on his land. The T-Rex didn’t just show up! Someone put him there. Sue that guy!”

The kid’s parents were too lazy to take the kid to the emergency room so I decided to take him myself. I brought him out to the car and kept forgetting things in the house. Every time I went back in, I took my shoes off but when I went to put them back on I couldn’t find them for a long time. They always ended up in the closet or under the couch or something. This happened a bunch of times so it was several hours later by the time we went to the ER.