Sunday, December 12, 2010

Dream Diary: Treasure Hunt

double scope ice cream coneImage via WikipediaI had this weird dream last night.

A group of people and I are involved in some kind of elaborate scavenger hunt that centers around us following clues and riddles scribbled on a pile random slips of papers, coasters, napkins and envelopes. One specific clue leads us onto an old fishing vessel, where we try to figure out the coordinates left behind be a dead fisherman that will supposedly lead us to the location of the Loch Ness Monster's ocean home. We figure it out when one of his former shipmates tells us that his old partner would often write the coordinates down wrong. This somehow enables us to figure out the right numbers, which lead us to a tape recording of the dead fisherman's voice under a pile of newspapers in the same room.

Meanwhile, in an unrelated portion of the dream, a serial killer has body wrapped tight in Saran Wrap, and is digging a hole in the floor of a cabin in which to hide it. The body, which bares a striking resemblance to Bryan Cranston from the AMC series Breaking Bad, has its face wrapped tightly with the plastic, mouth opened wide as if screaming. Suddenly, he comes to life, tears through the plastic and attacks his would-be murderer. I never return to this scene, and so I am unsure of the outcome of the struggle. 

Meanwhile, back at the bizarre treasure hunt... this clue-driven challenge somehow involves time travel (of course), and at one point I find myself walking through a lightly snow-covered field with an older woman. We reach a house supposedly belonging to her, at which point she asks if I am from the future. I confess that I am, and she asks me if I can do something about coffee cups when I go back. It seems that the paper coffee cups of whatever time I am currently in keep igniting when she drinks coffee, as she likes to smoke at the same time. I assure her that there is no need to worry; the coffee cups of the future are thick, heavy, and highly flame retardant. I then return to my future time to discover that, reminiscent of Ray Bradbury's A Sound of Thunder, my conversation with the woman has somehow resulted in all modern day coffee cups looking like ice cream cones.

Taking a moment to assess my situation, I thumb through the stack of clues and realize that there is no way I am going to finish this bizarre game before I wake up. Then I wake up.

Analysis: No more eating Coffee Ice Cream while watching Dexter reruns.
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