Last night I had two dreams...
Dream #1
I was in a van, much like a Super Shuttle. It was crowded and I knew a few of the passengers. For some reason I asked a fellow passenger for a joint. They produced one and I lit up the fat spliff. Then I passed it around. We arrived at a stop and somebody got out. By this time the doobie had been spent but the smoke lingered. As this person got out the Director of the FBI, who was standing just outside the door got a whiff. As the van was speeding off the Director ran after us and motioned to his nearby agents to follow us but the van driver ignored them. It became apparent that the FBI wasn't going to let us get by so easily, even though there was no more cannabis to be found on us. Cars were chasing us and then there were helicopters overhead. The driver of the van was incredibly cool-headed about the ordeal, chosing to take side alleys and duck under overhangs. When it became apparent that there would be an inevitable run-in with the authorities, we, the passengers got out of the van and dispersed quietly on foot, the driver all the while mellow and confident that nothing bad would happen to anyone.
Dream #2
I was acting goofy among a big group of co-workers, playing frisbee I think, being the life of the party, etc. when a male co-worker of mine brought up an event that killed my buzz. He said "remember those ads you did for 21st Century that one time?" I didn't remember but I slowly began to recollect. "There were all kinds of errors in them. The account manager said he had to alter every other word you wrote and they didn't make any sense." Then I began to remember. I was new to the job and I had been asked to come up with advertisments in one day that would talk about how our product had benefited this particular client. I had been shown a room with a few pieces of paper and a pencil. I thought they just wanted rough sketches but it turns out they wanted finished, ready-for-production ads. I then remebered that I had a sort of "fuck it, I don't really care about this" attitued. I had gone in there and drawn a bunch of cartoons that were loosely based on the task at hand. The person I met with there was quite impressed (on the surface) and they told me my ads were great. Rather than use them as a spring-board for finished ads they just ran what I gave them. They didn't even typeset them, so all the spelling errors I had on there and all the little irrelevant notes were just photographed and used as the print ads of a trade magazine. I tried to defend myself to the co-worker, who was disappointed in my performance. He even accused me of being drunk when I made those ads. I woke up thinking that I should have told him that I meant to do it and to go screw himself if he didn't recognize genius.
