August 11th, 2006

Loz Target

The zed-word. Don't say it! ...

I just woke up from a dream that both disturbed and disgusted me on multiple levels.

I was a social justice/social rights activist for zombies.


My mind hates me I think.

A bill had just been passed where zombies could use restrooms. I was happy in a lot of ways, but not in others. In a large part of the dream, I was trying to clean a toilet seat of pus, left there from an open sore by the zombie who had been using it before me (it was bright orange - like that artificial cheese in a can stuff - this also links into a common theme of my nightmares - not being able to find a working toilet.) I remember feeling trapped and isolated. After a while I got out of the toilet and there were two affable zombies there applying their make-up. I chatted with them (they were fully sentient and articulate in the dream) and tried to convince myself that I thought it was great that the one with blonde hair was attaching jewellery to her open eye-socket.

THEN I was back in my caravan - which was my office - and John C. McGinley, very much playing Dr Cox but as another lawyer, said something to the effect of "and what do you think of your social justice now, kiddo?" My next actions were to suggest that perhaps providing separate toilets for the zombies in each establishment was actually a more socially just initiative, as even though in some ways it segregated zombies from non-zombies, it also provided them equal opportunity and equal power. That's when I woke up.

This one dream raises so many questions. Why would zombies need to go to the toilet? Why wouldn't I just lift the seat and squat - since it's a risk touching a toilet seat in a public venue at any time? Does this then mean that my unconscious mind views 'the other' as so unlike me they are undead? Is this a sign that overdosing on Spaced, Scrubs and educational texts is never healthy?

I'm so confused. And still mildly wigged out. You cannot make this stuff up - except my sleeping mind totally did.