Man, I had some crazy dreams again last night. First, I dreamed that I was in some kind of horror movie. I moved into this HUGE apartment, 'projects' style. It was like 50 stories high and super run-down and it had chicken wire around the catwalks on each floor. I shoulda known right then there was gonna be trouble. There was a museum in the lobby dedicated to the history of the building. It had lots of black and white pictures and legends about past tenants. Many of the pictures were from newspapers and I didn't actually look, but ventured to guess that alot of the legends were infamous ones. I asked the guy running it if I could come in and use it to do some research for a paper (even in my dreams I'm geeky!). There was also a run-down studio in the building, and this old woman was giving private ballet lessons in there for free, so I went. But then things started to get all "The Ring" and in the bathroom, there was a corpse of young girl in the bathtub with her face frozen in horror. The wierd thing is, it didn't really scare me. There were two haunted rooms: the bathroom and a change room. When you opened the change room door, all you could see was this whirling, psychedelic hurricane type deal in vibrant blues and emeralds and gold and ruby. It was actually very pretty: there was something unidentifiably sexy about it. The ballet instructor told me she was a ghost and that I was now cursed because I saw the dead girl in the bathtub. Then a bunch of people from the cast of Saturday Night Live showed up and apparently, some of them were old friends of mine. Will Farrell gave me a hug and told me he was doing a show downtown and that if came to see it, he'd make sure I got in for free. Then the studio turned into this huge space, like a cross between the movie Moulin Rouge and being on the inside of a 'ship in a bottle' in the middle of a storm, and the ballet instructor now looked like Nicole Kidman. She told me I had two choices: I could either go back into the bathroom and accept whatever curse awaited me there, or I could die. I told her I chose neither, and left the stupid studio. On the way back to my appartment, one of my front teeth started to hurt intensely. I looked into a mirror and to my horror, my teeth were beginning to liquify and ooze out of their sockets. My gums were all red and blotchy and throbbing. It scared me so badly it woke me up at 6:00 in the morning!!!! I've read somewhere that dreams about teeth falling out are never good...

I fell back asleep and had a strange, 'doppleganger' dream of the first one. This time, I was living in a huge, luxury house, all bright and clean and pretty. There were a bunch of other young student types living there with me, and they were very, very, very rich. We were all out at a McDonalds or something for lunch, and I had a whole wack of luggage with me, that I kept losing track of. They were talking about all the stuff I should buy. They also kept making fun of me once they discovered the poetry in my backpack. On the way back to the house (in some kind of beemer) one of the guys took my mother's credit card from my wallet and bought all the stuff we had been talking about. When I got up to my room, they followed me up and unloaded some car keys, a new (very slick Mac) computer, an aquarium, and a mountain of other stuff that there was no way I would be able to pay my mother back for. While I sat there trying to figure out what the hell to do with it all, an older gentleman drove up to the house (in another nice car) and rang the doorbell. He was here to pick me up to go see Will Farrel's show! ha ha! But I missed him because I couldn't get out from all the stuff in my room. Then an older couple, the ones who owned the house I was staying in, got angry at me for not knowing how to use the thermostat, which I had never touched and suspected one of the other house mates had. Then I fell down a flight of plush, carpeted stairs. By this point, I was singing a song, which regretably, I promptly forgot when I woke up.

The creepiest part is that I'm pretty sure I liked the first dream better. I tell ya, Freud would have a field day with this stuff.