And you can get it, if you try.

Not long ago, I had the weirdest dream.

That in and of itself is kind of remarkable, as I’ve been in a somewhat extended period of dreamlessness. Or I should say, a period of restful sleep (very strange for me) from which I wake seldom remembering whatever dreams I’ve had during the night.

It’s even more remarkable considering that earlier on the same night in which I had this dream, I awoke suddenly and violently from a nightmare, gasping and thrashing about as if escaping from some great threat or danger. And yet, after waking up so dramatically, I had no recollection whatsoever of what caused me to jerk awake like that. Seems it should have been at least somewhat memorable, right? But nope. Nothing.

So then, after falling back asleep, I had this bizarre, extended dream that took place in a strange fantasy New York, in which the streets were traffic-less but flooded with streams of aimless wanderers. Me included. Somewhere in my wanderings I decided to do a little shopping at a Bloomingdale’s or Bergdorf’s-esque department store. Don’t remember what I was looking for, but the shopping excursion in and of itself is weird, since generally I would sooner slash my wrists wide open than voluntarily set foot in one of those masochistic funhouses.

Sometime after, I found myself walking the streets again, eating a popsicle. Mid-lick, I decided it was time to take the subway.

Once there, I was confronted by a long line of people waiting to get down into the station. While in real life this would have struck me as more than a little odd, in the dream I sat down like a good little sheep and waited, as if it were the most normal thing in the world—like waiting to ride a ride at an amusement park. Sadly, as I contemplated this, my popsicle fell to the ground in a melted puddle. And the next thing I knew, the guys flanking me were picking up the mess and rubbing it all over me, much to my extreme annoyance.

But somehow, I felt I deserved this.

Then, rising up the stairs from the depths of the subway, who should come to my aid? Why Cybil Shepherd of course! Even in my dream I was like, “What the fuck?”

I woke up confounded. And still am, really. The rest of the weirdness I can accept. But Cybil Shepherd??? Where the hell did she come from? What in the hell was she doing lurking somewhere in the depths of my subconscious? I mean, when was the last time I was even peripherally aware of that woman? Moonlighting? That eponymous sitcom of hers I never watched?

I feel like Jack Skellington pondering the mystery of Christmas. I am tormented day and night. What does it mean???