Thread: The Illegals, the Hotel Lobby Massacre, and the Midget

Hello, possible-dream-interpreters. Before I tell you my dream, here are the facts:

I'm 21.

I've never gotten married.

I woke up at 7AM today, even though I went to sleep at 12AM last night.

When I was looking for a new cell phone belt holster for my Blackberry, I told the Verizon store guy that I wanted one that didn't make it look like I was carrying a gun around all the time.

My long, dragged-out immigration court case is finally coming up in a few weeks. That'll decide whether or not I can stay in the United States. That's after 9 years of living here, mind you.




8/4/08 - The Illegals, the Hotel Lobby Massacre, and the Midget

The dream started out in a huge field. They were rolling hills, but I do remember a distinct tree in the near distance. The hills were full of illegal immigrants, although probably not Mexican.

I wasn't myself -- I was an American-looking man. My hair was a lot lighter (maybe a little red?) and I had an unkempt scruff beard.

They were rounding up all the immigrants. Although I was an American, I had been living in this land for a while, so I had assimilated with the Latino people.

I walked into the nearest hotel (yeah, a hotel in the rolling hills). Some people were looking at newspapers and talking about the immigrants-in-the-rolling-hills news and thought it was reasonable to join their conversation.

All of a sudden, my legality was questioned. I so was offended that they began wondering whether or not I loved my wife before she died, implying that I had killed her. I told them I loved her, but they said the evidence pointed otherwise. For example, I was seen carving "I Love You" in trees to various different women.

In retaliation, I pulled out a gun and went on a shooting rampage. I was shooting up, causing a huge pandemonium in the hotel lobby, but I don't think I killed anybody.

Actually, there were multiple hotel lobbies. They were all connected at the bottom and attached to a mall, I believe. The receptionists didn't seem phased by me at all, but everyone else was running was cover.

When I got lost, I asked one of the receptionists what hotel I was at. He told me the name of it -- I don't remember the name, but I know it had a red logo.

I was about to ask him how to get back to my hotel (which had a blue logo) when a strong black man dressed in a black suit came in. He said, "Sir, come with me to the [Hotel Name]."

He turned around and expected me to follow him, so I did. He also wasn't phased by the fact that I had a gun in my hand. To demonstrate that I didn't intend on shooting anymore, I put my gun in my holster (although it looked more like my Blackberry holster).

He escorted me back to the hotel with the blue logo.

While I was waiting for the police to get there, I noticed that [someone I know from the Internet who I've never met] was there. He was working as an editor for that hotel-lobbied production company. I think my old real life boss was working there too, or perhaps it was another young-and-pretty girl-boss.

Then, a cop came in to arrest me. He had a mustache and kind of looked like the Mexican cop from that Denzel Washington movie where the little girl gets kidnapped. When he was handcuffing me, I could tell that he was being nice because he made them as loose as possible. He was obviously a detective or something since he wasn't wearing the blue uniform.




Then I was at court. I talked my case over with my state-appointed midget defense attorney. He was a *very* little man (I'd say he was about 2 to 3 feet tall). While we were talking it over, I realized that he didn't really believe that I wasn't guilty.

I'm not sure whether I was being charged for allegedly being an illegal, allegedly killing my wife, or for allegedly killing people at the hotel lobby.

When my midget attorney walked away to talk to some of his other clients, I had a chat with some people who were sitting around me in the court room. I talked to my real-life friend's attorney. I don't remember what he looked like or what he said exactly, but I knew that he believed me and everyone thought it was really apparent that he knew a lot more than my midget attorney.

I went up to him moments before they called my name and asked if he could represent me, but he told me he was already representing [my real-life church friend]. My friend said he was sorry.

Regardless, as soon as they called me up, I fired my midget attorney. I went to shake his hand, but he had to shake my index finger because his hands were so little.



I walked up to the defendant's stand. I was obviously nervous and didn't really know what to do, cause I had trouble getting up. The judge began with her legal banter -- she had a Mexican accent (or some other type of Latino accent). She was also relatively young and pretty -- kind of looked like a gubernatorial Eva Longoria.

I told her I was going for self-representation. She asked me, "Do you see any editing machines here?" [I'm a video editor in real life]. It was apparent that she didn't know anything about editing because you use ordinary computers to edit, not a special machine as she was describing.

The whole time, she was talking to me empathetically; not like I was a child, but like I was a young man who didn't really knowing what he was doing. Whenever possible, she tried to dumb her language down so I can understand.

She asked, "Who was your attorney?"
"He was..."
"Was he a man with a suit? Was he a little man?"
"A really little, little man?"
"Yeah, a little man? That's Mikhael [SomeCrazyLastName]. He's the one of the best attorneys ever."
"The best?"
"He's in the top 5."

She had a little smirk... the kind of smirk you have when you realize that the gun-toting 21-year-old on your court room really has no idea what he's doing.

Then....




.....



....then someone talking in front of my room woke me up. It was probably the reason why I remembered the dream, but it made my dream REALLY anticlimactic. Again. Sorry, reader.

Here's my dream journal.