Dream Theatre

Okay, I did have a really great idea for this post, I came up with it the other night while walking to the overpass with Cam. Unfortunately it shrivelled under the twin suns of decency and hydrogen/helium. You see, when Cam has been drinking and I have been awake for enough hours to passably simulate it 'great' often means criminally tasteless and so bitterly sarcastic as to be considered 'cruel.' After thus building it up it couldn't possibly live up to expectations anyway but feel free to approach me (or possibly Cam, but I make no guarantees) in person for a synopsis of the gag. Check your righteous indignation at the door though, you've been thoroughly warned.
Having given further posts about Cam's blog the old college try I shall now begin with part one of my 434 part series "Better know my subconscious." In today's installment I shall describe two recent dreams I have had.
In the first, I find myself outside a hospital bearing a striking resemblance to a convenience store which was near my house when I was a child. In the dream I know that my girlfriend Karen is terminally ill inside this hospital and am debating on whether I should bust her out so that we can spend her last few days together. Since there is nothing the doctors can do for her in any case I decide to go ahead with it and carry her out to my car. (In the dream I have a car, at least.) As is my habit while driving I begin to sing quietly under my breath. In this case it's the song that begins "'L' is for the way you look at me" but that's the only line I get through because after that I am struggling against crying too hard to continue.
Compare and contrast this (in 500 words or less) with the dream I had the previous night in which Scorpius, Chewbacca and myself must brave the frigid landscape of a partially terraformed Mars in order to avert disaster at Site 2 of the colonization mission.
For any amateur psychologists out there trying to make sense of this I wish you joy of the riddle. I shall end with another reference to our beloved patron Cam, the only person I know whose dreams come ready-made with professional grade camera work, action beats, and jokes worthy of one of the better syndicated television comedies. In case he some day wishes to transform the work of his talented team of writers into something more tangible I shall omit the details but, suffice it to say, it involved Cam fighting a four-foot antagonist in a grocery store with hilarious results.
Next time: more jokes, less secrets.