Last night I dreamed about my friend Joanne. She’s a teacher, but in my dream she was a nurse. The two of us and two of her nurse friends and BRAD PITT were walking to the hospital to get a key, and we stopped to rest. (It was all uphill.) Joanne got mad at me wanting to take a break, so she and her two nurse friends went ahead to look at a bear that was in a fenced-in area just ahead, and BRAD PITT and I promised to catch up soon.
Suddenly we heard loud sounds, and a bear came rolling down the hill. A very dead bear. The sounds continued and we (me and BRAD PITT) realized the sounds came from a machine gun, and we (BRAD PITT and me) took off running downhill to the edge of the river (I’m not sure if the river was there before this or not) We kept dodging and darting from bush to bush, and I kept yelling, “What about Joanne?” BRAD PITT reassured me that Joanne could take care of herself.
The sounds of the machine gun got louder and louder, and suddenly I woke up and realized the machine gun sounds came from the whirring of the fan on the dresser, highly magnified the way things can when they work into your dreams.
Where BRAD PITT came from I don’t recall. Nor where he went. But I learned not only that I can run downhill, (which I probably truly can’t) but that Joanne is, apparently, BRAD-PITT-kick-ass competent.
You go, Joanne. You go.