Hey, I LIKE Bizarre Dreams

Last night, at about 1:30 AM, I ate some apples with caramel dip. They were delicious.

Last night, at about 2:15 AM, I went to sleep.

Various important people in my life have asserted to me, as though it were plain universally understood gospel truth you're just born knowing, that if you eat shortly before you go to bed, and especially if you eat something that's not particularly good for you--something sugary, or fattening, or salty--you'll have strange dreams. You believe this, right? Not because you read a five year study completed by the Harvard School of Culinary Arts and Sleep Medicine, but because that's what people have always told you. It's one of those things everybody believes but no one really knows why, like 'Alex Rodriguez isn't clutch' or 'Republicans are different from Democrats'.

As some of you know, I type deposition and hearing transcripts for a living. So I spend a good six, eight, ten, now and then 14 hours a day listening to the blasted things. Last night was the first time I can clearly remember that I dreamed about participating in one.

It seemed to be a pretty important deposition. It took place in a makeshift area that appeared to have been converted from the inside of a K-Mart entrance, and I was the representative of a team of about four attorneys suing this guy for some reason. I was in charge of his deposition. Big, muscular, bald black guy; I don't remember a name or anything. I do remember that I had trouble getting the deposition off the ground. Even though it's the last problem I'd expect myself to have in real life, I was talking too slowly, pausing too long to take notes after each answer he gave--which is ridiculous since my entire job exists so lawyers can go through a deposition's transcript with a fine toothed comb--and generally wasting too much time. I started off asking him if he'd been involved in a lawsuit before. He paused for a bit and said, yes, he'd been in four.

Pause. Take notes.

How many times, out of the four, were you the Plaintiff?

Pause.

Once.

Pause. Write notes.

And how many times were you the Defendant in a lawsuit?

Pause.

Twice.

Pause. Take notes. Become vaguely aware my three colleagues are becoming annoyed.

And on it went for a little bit, and then, while I was taking more notes exactly 42 minutes into the deposition, the court reporter--and I swear on my life, that's who the court reporter was, and he looked and talked just like him, and he walked right up, with that dainty Jack Sparrow swagger, leaned over to me, and said: "Hate to break it to you, mate, but... that's it." Then he made that little face twitch. I was out of time.

Which, of course, you can't run out of time in a deposition. There is no time limit on depositions (technically; there is definitely an unknown time limit, but you can usually see it approaching, before the deponent starts to become very grouchy.)

And then I woke up.

So earn your Psychology Ph.D. and make sense of that one. I dare you.