I had the weirdest dream, early this morning.
I was in a big, formal conference room with a notebook and a bunch of papers spread out in front of me and I was working on writing something.
In walked the President… Richard Nixon.
Right off the bat, are you fucking kidding me??? Growing up, Nixon was despised in my household. I became “politically aware” following the Watergate scandal as a junior high-schooler and celebrating his resignation. But even so, I haven’t thought about his ass in years. And here he is in my dream, and I’m not even surprised to see him.
He asked me what I was working on. I answered that I was writing about my boyhood baseball idol, Roberto Clemente. He seemed pleased with that answer and began signing each of the pages on the table. It wasn’t that he was claiming credit, I got the impression that he was autographing each page, to make it worth money… y’know, because he was the President. And famous. And dead, but I don’t think he realized that yet.
THEN… a girl came in with a deli tray. I don’t know who she was, but I began making a big ham sandwich. I always go big, when it comes to deli tray.
Then I woke up, and let me tell you, I was PISSED!
It wasn’t because I was dreaming about a disgraced ex-President. I was pissed because I didn’t get to taste the ham sandwich.
I have no idea what to make of any of this. Help me, Dr. Freud!!!
And you can ask your friend So-crates too.