These dreams

Just so you know, I’m dreaming right now. That you’re reading this while I sleep has to do with my new dream-to-blog technology which allows me to transcribe my dreams real-time onto my blog. Pretty cool, huh? Oh, there are the electrodes to deal with. The fire wire. The cranial wifi router. It only hurts a little.

Bob Marley is here with me. He says that I'm stressing too much in my day life and it's affecting my sleep cycle. He can tell from all the tossing and turning I have been doing, the teeth grinding, the nearly indecipherable rambling on in my sleep about time lines and deliverables. Marley has pulled up a chair and is seated next to me. I am rubbing my eyes. Not to wipe away the sleep, but to clear out the smoke that has wafted over from his big fat cigar. He takes a hit and exhales. Funny, it doesn't smell like cigar smoke. Now he is singing to me. This is what he has to say:

Don't worry about a thing. Cause every little thing gonna be alright.

That’s really nice, Bob. Thanks for dropping by tonight.

Singin' don't worry about a thing. Cause every little thing gonna be alright.

I appreciate the concern, Bob. I'm going to work on reducing the stress. Hold on...what's this? There are three little birds on Marley's shoulder, swaying to the music. Cute little things. In unison they come in for the refrain of his song:

This is my message to you-ou-ou.

Such beautiful voices. Beautiful plumage, too. I applaud. Perhaps too vigorously because I’ve startled the birds. They've taken flight. One of them has crapped on my bedspread. But that’s okay. This is a dream. There’s nothing to clean up in a dream, right?

Bob Marley looks like he is getting ready to sing again. Here it comes:

Ooh, yeah! All right! We're jammin': I wanna jam it wid you

Yeah, mon. And I want to jam it wid you, too, Bob. Really I do! What exactly does that mean?

Bob Marley laughs. Apparently, I am amusing him. He reaches over and pats me on the shoulder. He tamps out what remains of his funny-smelling cigar on the nightstand. In reality that's going to leave a burn mark, but not in a dream! Marley is looking around for his three birds. They have perched on top of a book shelf. “We gonna go,” he says to them.

On his command, the birds are in the air again, flying low and fast circles across my bedroom, singing:

We're jammin', we're jammin', we're jammin', we're jammin...hope you like jammin' too.

Then they fly right through the wall and are gone. Bob Marley vanishes with them.

And just like that I am alone again in my dreams. Not for long, though. Someone's coming. Is that… Yes, it is. It’s Groucho Marx. Groucho Marx has come to visit me in my dreams.

Come in, Groucho. Have a seat.

Groucho? What is this? Some kind of joke? I am Dr. Abbott your freshman calculus teacher. This is your final exam. Why are you naked?

Oh dear God.