I Dream Of Dillweed

/ Diane Henders

Or maybe that’s “dickweed”.  Let me explain.

I’ve been sick for the past couple of weeks, but I’m all better now.  For those of you making the obvious “sick mind” jokes, just… well, yeah, okay.  I guess I can’t argue.

However, now I understand the true meaning of the phrase “fevered dreams”.  And lucky you, I’m going to share.  Hang on, ‘cause here we go:

A large group of Puritans stands silent and stock-still, all eyes fixed on me.  Men, women, and children, all garbed in sombre black with white lacy collars.  They just stare.  I don’t know why.  Their holy book is a catalogue of hand-crocheted sweater patterns.  On the front is a photo of a blonde fashion model wearing a lacy, openwork yellow sweater.

I’m not even going to try to analyze that little vignette.  But as the night wore on, my brain started to serve up coherent stories that only changed when I realized they were dreams.

The scarred, grizzled leader of a bike gang gets into my car and informs me that I will be hosting a party for the gang.  It will be a barbeque, and we discuss the menu while I drive to town to buy groceries.  They’ll have New York steaks, and I will make my famous potato salad.  Baked beans are discussed and agreed upon.  I do not find this funny.  I know as soon as the steaks are grilled to medium-rare perfection, I’ll become the evening’s entertainment.  My chances of survival are slim. Death will be merciful.

All very dark and threatening, but the dream continues:  They will bring their own beer.

Then I knew I had to be dreaming, so my brain switched scenes:

I awaken lying prone on a grey marble roof.  My drink is beside me, the glass slithering over the slippery curved edge as I open my eyes.  Sheer terror seizes me when I make a grab for my drink and realize I am hundreds of stories above the ground.  I jerk away from the edge, and irritation overcomes me.  I mutter, “Well, shit, I’m just going to throw these blankets over the edge and hope there’s nobody underneath when they hit, because I’m not climbing all the way back up here to get them.”

I must have made it down from the rooftop safely, because next thing I knew, I was a nurse.

I watch an angry-looking uniformed woman stride across the hallway, and my inner narrator dictates, “The administrator had heard about the blocked toilet ten minutes ago.  This allowed her nine and a half minutes to be furious.” 

For some reason, the narrator thinks these two sentences are sheer literary genius and must be written down at the first opportunity.  (And I just did.  Hmmm.)

Anyway, that dream went on, too:  I am one of a team of several nurses who must lift a six-hundred-pound patient.  As we gather around him, he booms, “Hell, my dick is 330 pounds alone!  It could be even bigger if I wanted.  Every day I rub it with dillweed!”

I wake with the triumphant bellow of “Dillweed!” still echoing in my mind.

Welcome to my brain.  Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.

P.S.  Wanna buy some dillweed?  I hear it’s great for… well, you know.

19 thoughts on “I Dream Of Dillweed”

  1. My strangest dream was quite short, but I remember coming out of the supermarket, and all the cars were bath tubs. I put the shopping on the rack and climbed in to the warm water. My clothes had changed to a swimsuit. Round the corner, the was a teacher shouting “Ok kids, three to a tub!” And all of theoretical were joined by rope and looked very unsafe indeed. But it was obviously the norm as no one blinked and eye. Huh… I wonder what would have happened next?

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      • I have also had one where my friend was driving a double Decker bus from the top deck, blindfolded. We crashed into a lot of hedges and made the farmer anger. The rest of the bus didn’t care about what was going on and just continued with normal conversation. My friend missed most of the stops though.

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  2. Pingback: Fevered Dream- a Flash Fiction Tale « CMStewartWrite

  3. ” ‘They will bring their own beer.’ Then I knew I had to be dreaming…”
    *Also* literary genius – that one got me laughing. Following up with nine and a half minutes to be furious was a brilliant bonus! Thanks for sharing! (“Nine and a Half Minutes of Rage” would be a great name for a band, come to think of it…)

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    • Usually I have the same problem, but for some reason these ones stayed burned (probably literally due to the fever) into my brain for several hours after I woke up. They were so strange, I just had to write them down. Reading them now, though, I can’t remember dreaming them.

      Maybe I dreamed that I dreamed them… *brain explodes*

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  6. Wow! Those dreams sound like the beginnings of some great stories! Mr. Dickweed make me laugh out loud. XD

    Now I’m jealous. The most exciting dream I ever had was . . the fourth most exciting dream I ever had was the one I described in the comments of a previous post on your blog. About a crappy toilet. Which, come to think of it, isn’t all that exciting. Mostly just disgusting. Ah well.

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  7. What strange dreams you’ve been having, Diane… I never dream anything like th.. oh, hang on – I do! Without puritans, bike gangs and administrators, I have to add – although there’s always tonight!
    Glad to hear you’re feeling better! 🙂

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    • Even I was beginning to be concerned. Seriously. Have you ever heard someone actually speak the word “dick” in a dream? And the precision of the numbers made me wonder, too. 330 pounds? Why wouldn’t my brain round it off to a nice even 300?

      Glad you’re not pretending you don’t know me, though. 🙂

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