Not sure if it’s because my brother looks like one, but Monkey’s Eyebrow, Kentucky was all I could think of when I went to bed. Recently, I’ve been dreaming of Chris Hemsworth dancing with Oompa-Loompas to the Kidz Pop version of “Mystical Magical” by Benson Boone, which I think began when my mom started cooking asparagus again. Anyways, back to my dream last night. As soon as I fell asleep, I was hearing this squeaky noise, like the Christmas tree dog toy we got for my grandpa. I was walking through a graveyard, looking at the tombstones. I read the names out loud: “Cole Anaskopie” and “Handil Apat-Ata.” Suddenly, I heard kaw-kawing behind me, and I turned around, watching as an elephant twirled into me. I got pushed into a locker, and giant copies of feminine literature books surrounded me, each more performative than the last. I tried to start walking, but my backpack felt heavy. I looked over my shoulder, and I saw a tree scowling down at me. I screamed, but only a honk came out. All the feminine literature books suddenly turned to me, singing circus music. The elephant from earlier appeared above me on a tightrope, holding a garden gnome in each hand for “stability.” Or whatever. A baboon jumped through a hoop of fire wearing an Art Deco print kimono dress in bright orange. He raised an eyebrow at me and wielded a baguette before saying, “I see London; I see France; I hope I see everyone who likes carrots not advance.” Then he slid off the Earth. A gust of wind knocked me off my feet and into a cheerful toilet seat in the middle of a decaying mall. I tried to get off, but I couldn’t. It’s like my rainbow zebra-striped leggings were glued to the seat. I mooed as the toilet flushed and sucked me in. I woke up in a state of tingling all the way down to my toes.
P.S. I talked to my mom about my weird dreams and she suggested that I wear my pajamas inside out and eat some of this healthy stuff she calls “Roh Chez and Cream.”
It hasn’t helped.
