Dream On

Last weekend, I had one of those “WTF” kind of morning-dreams... a real doozy. (Sadly, neither Tina Fey nor Cat Deeley were involved.)

OK, get this… I dreamed that I was selected as an offensive lineman in the NFL draft, as the 4^th pick overall, by the Seattle Seahawks. 

Now, just let all that ridiculousness wash over you, as you consider the absurdity.  I mean, I’m 50 years old, for cryin’ out loud.  And even at my most athletic, I would have never been confused with an offensive lineman.  (Those are the guys that usually go around 6’5”, 300-plus pounds, with arms as big around as my thighs.  Best I ever could have hoped to be was a pass-catching tight end, or in other words, a tall white guy with good hands, that’s too slow to be a wide receiver.)

And it gets worse… the dream setting was not Radio City Music Hall in New York, with the NFL commissioner, a podium or TV cameras.  My setting was some kind of wooded hillside and the situation was like choosing sides on a playground.

The Seattle coach just pointed at me and said, “You, you’re with me.”

He had already selected this other dude with the 3^rd overall pick, who was definitely “offensive lineman” caliber, a huge black guy with a big, thick beard.  I figured they must have made a trade to land two consecutive first-round picks.

Even weirder than all of these strange things happening in the dream were the things that were going through my head, as I considered my situation (during the dream.)

My concerns:

* Ugh, I gotta play for the Seahawks??  Seattle is such a long way from everything I know.  And I don’t even LIKE Starbucks.  And what about all the rain?

* You mean I have to wear those ugly uniforms?

* I wonder if the Seattle fans will ever forgive me for rooting against them in Super Bowl XL.  (You know, the one I attended, adorned head-to-toe in Steelers gear?)

* On the other hand, getting picked 4^th overall in the NFL draft is going to land me a shit-pot full of money.  I suppose I can get used to the change of scenery.

Next thing I knew, I was in the den at “my house,” which I didn’t recognize directly, but it resembled the place I used to live in New York.  And I thought to myself, “OK, now what do I do?”

I considered my situation for a second and thought, “Well, I guess I better start working out, or else these guys are going to kill me.”

That’s when I woke up, going “What the hell was that?”

I went right back to sleep though, and promptly started dreaming about telling people all about my NFL dream.  I’m serious!  It was totally carrying over, like a dream within a dream.  I imagine that somewhere in a pit-filled basement, Sitcom Kelly was “Inception-ing” me.

So what do I make of all this?  There are several options I can think of…

* I want to be recognized for my abilities.

* I want to be part of a team, because I was rarely picked early for teams, during grade school, and the effects are still rattling around my brain.

* I vastly overestimate the value of my so-called skill set.

* I really need to get into better shape.

* Seattle really was robbed of a Super Bowl title by poor refereeing and I should try to fix it.  (I threw up in my mouth a little bit, just typing that.)

* I secretly think I’d look good in sea-foam green or whatever hideous color that is.

* I should avoid hanging around with groups of large men, out in the woods.

* I’m just ready for football season to start.

Yeah… it’s probably the last one…

I checked in with Sitcom Kelly, to show her a draft of my post, and to see if she’s the one behind all this.  Turns out that because she’s been gorging herself on the 30 Rock DVDs I loaned her, she’s been having dreams about Tina Fey.  So we have agreed to switch dreams.

I can see it now, she’ll get a hillside full of athletes and I’ll get “Liz Lemon,” safely contained in a basement pit.  I bet she’d love my ziti.

Next, I just have to get Sitcom Kelly to watch some DVDs of “So You Think You Can Dance”.