I’m gonna chalk this dream up to me being super-congested (rendering my CPAP mask useless).
I was in college (I think), and I decided to live out on the quad and left all my stuff (consisting of three sketchbooks I had as a kid) out in the open. I don’t know why I was surprised to find them half buried and all dirty and being stomped on by a horde of beer-swilling fratboys later that night, who were trying to get into a trailer that I think was full of the marijuanas. They yelled at me and were shoving me around as I tried desperately to get my stuff back and I was screaming and crying and eventually shoved some of them back enough to get my things and run.
I found myself in what was half the post office in Pekin, and half the Milwaukee Convention Center, and I was really upset and I went in the restroom there and realized this experience was going to be the basis of my “8 Mile Experience”, so I started rapping like Eminem as hard as I could. Even dream-me realized that freestyling the words “flibida bibida” at the end of a lyric was going to get me thrown off the stage, so I went back into the lobby to be depressed.
Then my mom showed up riding a tricycle that could cover windows in ice crystals, and saying things that were meant to be comforting but were instead extremely sad. I am glad I can’t remember any of them. They were so bad that Elmo appeared and told me “Don’t worry. This is one of the episodes of Sesame Street you didn’t watch back in the 90’s when everything was really depressing”.