I Discovered I Have A Superpower Last Night

Last night something amazing happened. More accurately, just now something amazing happened because I’m typing it at 5:02 AM as I’m so excited about it I can’t even sleep, but since you’re reading it now and I’m forever a slave to the reader, we’ll say it happened last night. The point is that I displayed a miraculous power during a dream. Don’t stop reading, I didn’t say I had a miraculous dream and am about to bore you with some story of outrunning a giant crab, I said something happened *during* a dream. They’re different things and you’ll see.

Men have complicated relationships with women in dreams, don’t we? When we’re young everything is hunky dory and they ladies are typically naked and cause us to expel semen into our sheets (that’s not entirely true, I’ve never had a wet dream that I recall, but I’m trying to seem relatable). I’ve had countless REM Romances with the likes of Tyra Banks, Baby Spice, Britney Spears, Christina Aguilera, and on and on I could go. Each tryst more beautiful than the last, from making love on clouds like we were in a Victoria’s Secret commercial to simply recreating the “Dirrty” video, they were all memorable and wonderful. So much so that I’ll still revisit them from time to time when WiFi is shoddy and I’m having a tough time falling asleep.

But, as life continues to beat your hull like relentless waves and your paint chips away and your rudder becomes weaker, the unconscious relationship with the opposite sex gets more and more complicated. Suddenly, things aren’t all boobs and blowjobs. In fact, quite often, you’re not even remotely in control of your dreamy interactions with women. You’ve offered your soul as sacrifice and she is the one who has the sticks, controlling your dreary avatar. Anyone who’s ever been in a relationship has woken up to that cold room and known something was awry, made the fatal mistake of asking what’s wrong, and learned that in her dream you did something that real you would never do, but you’re going to be forced to pay for it nevertheless. It’s a cliche scenario but it’s earned that honor by being universally true. While you’re regaled with the tale of how you showed up at her office with flowers, for the *first* time ever mind you, and she found it so sweet but you walked right past her desk and gave them to her co-worker who you don’t even like. It embarrassed her and made her feel like you don’t even care, like you’re just killing time with her until you find someone better, jerk! The whole time you stare at the ceiling like a confused dog with your head still on the pillow, wiping sleep with one hand and the other outstretched toward the heavens, begging for help sorting this all out from a celestial being who remains ever silent and leaves you to suffer with your mortal problems.

The other dream, and I use the word loosely, interaction with women is slightly better: this one takes place in your own head and while it’s still tormenting, you at least have the ability to shut the fuck up, never mention it, and suffer silently, which is always a fantastic option. While this one doesn’t have real life implications, on account of never telling a soul about it, it can be more agonizing. It’s not so different from the aforementioned one, actually, and often find yourself in a situation where you know you did nothing wrong but plead your case for what seems like an eternity to deaf ears. Freddy Kruger was more forgiving and understanding than the females in these nightmares.

Last night I found myself in such a torture chamber. To summarize the dream turned nightmare briefly: I saw a friend in NYC who I hadn’t seen in a while and, as is Wednesday before Thanksgiving tradition, we decided to steal a yacht. A real nice son of a bitch, the kind Leo would take a gaggle of gals onto while he had a break from his environmental conference. We captained the thing to Rollins College, because where else would you take a beautiful yacht but a Central Florida town that’s not accessible from the ocean, and we rode that boat right off the ramp where the famed Rollins College Water Ski team practices in front of the students sunbathing by the pool (for the 5th straight season Rollins finished 5th at the heavily attended National Collegiate Water Ski National Championship this year). As the hundred foot ship floated through the sky we were still in full control of it, like you are with a motorcycle in Grand Theft Auto, and we made that thing do a stunning amount of rotations while we yelled AIIRRRRRR TRUMPPPPPPP, in order to curry favor with the Rollins crowd. We landed it and folks thought us heroes. Coeds flocked onto the deck and we celebrated. We celebrated, that is, until I saw from the corner of my eye a woman ashore who was not happy with me and I realized I must stop this fun behavior and immediately apologize to her. I leapt from the ship and swam for shore like freedom was waiting for me, though I knew full well it was the opposite, and chased her through the Amazonian forest (common in Winter Park, Florida) into a clearing where her whole family was waiting to yell at me.

Now I KNEW I had done nothing wrong here. I mean, yes, I’d stolen a mega yacht, driven it across land to an Orlando suburb, broken a few laws of physics, offered a tacit endorsement of Donald Trump, and forgotten to check a handful of IDs on the college girls who came to get celebrate onboard, but I hadn’t *really* done anything wrong. I hadn’t taken anyone below deck and presented them with some kind of dastardly implication, I’m no monster. But still, I could sense I was in trouble, so you know what I did? I didn’t try to fight back, I didn’t even begin the argument, I simply said “Wake up.” That’s it! I knew I was in a precarious situation about to begin a war that wasn’t winnable and I simply told myself to abort mission. Player 1 motherfucking left the game! I immediately regained clear consciousness where I found myself in bed with my dog and I’ve never been happier. When I tell you guys I’m on cloud nine right now that doesn’t even begin to describe it. As soon as I felt that tinge of panic, that slight chill in the air that said the dream was over and the nightmare was beginning, I simply decided the party was over so I grabbed my coat and went home.

I don’t know if this has forever been an option and we always failed to pull our safety ‘chute but I very highly suggest it next time you find that fear starting to percolate when you’re out cold. You don’t have to wake up in that gross sludge where you’ve kinda stopped sweating and it’s started to dry but you can still feel the remnants of a panicked sleep on you, you can choose to remove yourself from the narrative. Or I can, at least. Because I’m a superhero.

Note: I did consume a fair amount of McDonalds and whiskey in the car last night. I wasn’t driving, of course, but it did result in a mean bout of heartburn and a case of the poops. Those two symptoms may have been what caused me to be so alert and ready to snap out of sleep, but I’ll take them over fighting every day of the week and if I have to scoff down a meal of Big Macs and Bulleit every night before bed, Charlie Kelly style, to make me immune from such nightmares then goddammit I’m gonna do it.