DrRoy

I felt tired early, so I figured I'd go to bed at 10:00. I wake up at 1:30 from a dream and now I can't get back to bed. I figure I might as well write what I remember.

I was at Northwestern, but a different Northwestern. It resembled ours in locations of buildings, but they weren't as tall and there was a definite slope down from North to South campus. Also, there were many more gravel-paved roads. (When I dream about Northwestern, it is almost always this version.) I was getting back from something and then decided to get in disguise and join a couple in a van later that day. I carried a textbook and a basketball with me. The white van was parked on a basketball court behind a gym. The man in the couple had a mustache like Lt. Dangle from Reno 911! and they both dressed like tourists, as did I. As I circled the van to get in, there began a bunch of bickering like an old married couple, and I decided to throw in knowledge from my textbook about the peculiarities of marsupial birth. When asked why, I scrawled on the side of the seat as I got in, "I TALK ABOUT KANGAROO REPRODUCTION SO WE DON'T HAVE TO TALK ABOUT OUR MARRIAGE." Even though we were in a van, we stepped into a couple of elevators lit with art nouveau-style lights. We did so without any memory of leaving the van. On the second elevator, people stepped out of our way as we got on, and one of the couple said the only thing that hadn't been said in character, along the lines of "At least we have a little recognition down here." It then occurred to me that in joining the couple, I was infiltrating a cult that was trying to brainwash the student body. We continued driving and bickering until we got down south, arriving in a downtown Evanston that looked like the town square from Groundhog Day. There was a guy in black and red playing violin, and it was one of the most sad, beautiful chord progressions I had ever heard. The mustached man and I dumped a bucket's worth of coins into his hat, and at that point the violinist and I chatted about how if you got enough money, you could get Mack truck merchandise to sell. It was a lucrative business, apparently. Jump cut to the image of a Mack truck hauling manure down a highway, then to a shot from an NBC promo for a reality show that would involve the contestants having to carry the manure to places. He was wearing jean shorts, had fallen over, had some manure on him (it looked more like overcooked spinach than actual manure), and was addressing the camera. Then I woke up.