Ohhhhhh man…I think my unconscious is telling me something…

So last night I had this really whacked-out (yet freakishly realistic-feeling) dream about Freud. I’ll try to describe it for you:

I’m in this really purple room—I mean, EVERYTHING’S purple. I’m sitting on a purple bed all alone, when suddenly I feel this breathing down the back of my neck. I start thinking, “now I’ll get an A,” and I turn around and good ol’ Sigmund’s there, sitting on the purple bed with me. The following dialogue takes place (is it sad that I remember this verbatim?):

I go, “Hey.”

He goes, “Welcome to the subconscious.”

“It’s everything I thought it would be.”

“I am Dr. Sigmund Freud. I hear you’re reading my book.” (which I am in real life).

“Yes. I am fascinated by your theories on dreams and your methods of dream analysis.”

“Would you like to know the secret of the human mind?”

“Yes.”

And then he starts going on about how purple is the color of sexual desire and how purple has no rhyme for the same reason nothing compares to sex. I’m thinking this whole time that I’d better write this stuff down, but I don’t have time to look for a pencil and paper while he’s talking, so I don’t do anything. I don’t remember this little speech word-for-word, but when it was over, we said this:\

Me: “You are a genius.”

Freud: “You have been enlightened. Now will you do a favor for me?”

(I nod.)

Freud: “Do you have complete confidence in me?”

“Yes.”

“Show me your id.”

So apparently, showing someone your id involves taking off your clothes, because I strip naked and stand completely bare in front of the father of psychoanalysis. I think I was laughing, too.

“Turn around,” he says.

“Yes.” I follow his command.

Then I hear this freaky whispering sound—it wasn’t really whispering, but it was kinda like it—so I turn around cause I’m getting cold and no one is there. I remember being scared at this point—I mean, REALLY scared—and I start asking, “Freud? Freud? Sigmund?” And then start screaming “SIGMUND!” in a way not unlike Stanley’s “STELLA!” In “Streetcar Named Desire.” And then I woke up.

What the hell does this mean? Am I supposed to know, since I think I was being psychoanalyzed DURING the dream? Why is it that I repeat the word “yes” four times? Oh, and I forgot to mention that the whole dream played out as if it were shot with a wide-angle lens. Hm.

Ah, well. At least Freud and I didn’t get it on.

I think.