The Severity of My Issues

I had the weirdest fucking dream a week ago and had to record it, and yes, even publish it, while I still had such vivid detail trapped in my nightmare skull. And this was before I saw INCEPTION. I know dream blogging is not the most creative, original exercise, but we all have to hit the cliches at least once, right? It went something like this:

First, my parent's bedroom had recently become filled with poorly caged animals. As in, they were not being stocked correctly. For whatever reason, they had a cage filled to the brim with snakes, plenty of cagesĀ full of cats, mouse cages where the mice were easily walking and out of the grating, and generally chaotic.

Also, there was Marmaduke.

Yeah, I know.

Marmaduke, the big CGI version from the movie, as voiced by Owen Wilson. Except in my night terror, he had no voice. Just that horrendous, haunting smile that only a CGI dog can have. Marmaduke was exactly my height on all fours, able to look me straight in the eye. On all hind legs, he was taller than me. Also, stronger. Smiling like a porcelain doll, he starts to choke me in a hug as best as he can with his giant dog legs. I crawl out of the room as best as I can, dragging him along, until I reach the doorway and shut him in.

The memories are starting to fade. My little cousin, somewhere around the age of 6 in this instance, is there. He's playing with a cat upstairs, and my immediate family is downstairs at the dinner table. They are setting up plates, sitting, waiting, preparing, going about their daily routine. My little cousin decides to enter my parent's bedroom, to play with the wildlife, and I panic and try and stop him because it is hell in there and I don't know what Marmaduke would do to him.

He opens the door, wanders into the chaos and tries to catch a rabbit or some shit, and I try to catch him, but this room is impossible. I eventually get him out, but Marmaduke has gotten out too, and he continues to try and choke me. I feel like I have to be clear that I didn't get the impression the cartoon dog was trying to murder me - he just didn't know his own strength. He was trying to tackle and play with me, I think, as all big dogs do when they have all this pent up energy from being kept indoors.

I punch Marmaduke in the ribs. It is like punching a brick wall, and the dog does not react.

As I near the top of the stairs, trying to wrestle off the dog, I look downstairs and see my family at the table. I ask for help, a hand or something, but no one reacts. Somehow, without talking or actually using a voice, Marmaduke communicates with me. All of a sudden, I know that he had invited my cousin to play with him and they both thought it would be fun for my 6 year old cousin to ride on the back of this 9 foot wild dog. I was the only one in the world who knew that was a terrible idea.

But out comes my cousin, somehow now standing on a bookshelf in order to properly mount Marmaduke like a horse. I am panicking, no no no, get off, don't do that, hey, no no no, bad, bad dog, bad cousin. They smile and don't listen, and now I am balancing my cousin on the back of this giant dog, while the dog tries to wrestle me, while making sure the cat isn't killed. Also, there is now a second baby, an infant, on the floor. I have never seen this baby before, but it has black hair. I scoop it up with one hand, and use the other hand to somehow restrain Marmaduke from taking off and stop my cousin from falling off his back.

I look down, over the railing downstairs and see my family ignoring the utter cartoon dog chaos I am having here. The nearest is my dad, and I see the top of his head. I yell for help, and he seems to at least notice the noise. A little help here! I say as loud as I can in dream-speak.

He raises his hands in the air ineffectually and weakly, as if preparing to catch something light. He doesn't even look up from his plate, or magazine, or laptop, or whatever he is looking at. He just raises his hands a few inches and prepares to catch the baby that I am going to drop onto him. I am seething mad.

Get up! I say, and he does nothing. GET. UP. He raises his hands a little higher, but still does not even leave his seat or look up. I take a deep breath and summon all my will power to unleash some truly righteous indignation.

"GET UP!" I yell in real life, waking up, and waking the family.

I hear a door open outside and instantly realize my mistake, as my brain tingles and consciousness returns. A kind of tired embarrassment comes, and I realize that this is going to be hard to explain.

I can still see that sinister great dane grin; psychotic, permanent and all conquering.