It's 5 am, I'm half asleep, my nails are long and in the way of my keyboard, but I have to write this silly dream down before I forget it.

First, some background. Stayed up to watch the Iowa caucus speeches on MSNBC...Edwards, Clinton, Obama, Huckabee (along with Chuck Norris's enormous head), not Romney, however, noooo...that comes later. But speaking of Romney, it's my opinion, and maybe mine alone, that he reminds me a little physically of Jack Shephard's father, Christian Shephard, you know, alcoholic father and the corpse in the coffin on doomed flight 815? And you've heard PETA-enraging tales of Romney's Griswoldesque American Family Vacation with the dog in the box on the top of the car? Yes, all these things must have played into the formulation of:

WEIRDEST. DREAM. EVER.

So I'm like in...Ireland or something. WTF. I'm at the country home of some family whose mother has died. She had some young children. She lived next door to her parents who are both still living. Her mother, the kid's grandmother, comes out to talk to people who are with me. We go into the house. The dead mother is displayed in the parlor. They are having a green funeral, probably to be buried in the green hills of Ireland? WroNG! No, this corpse is coming with us, back to Madison, in a van being driven by Mitt Romney! As we're leaving, Mitt or somoene asks, "Doesn't this women have parents who live next door?" but I guess I was the only one who saw them. I didn't say anything, because I figure there's a reason her parents didn't want to be seen by the others.

This whole thing was surreal, like I was halfway participating in the dream, but also halfway watching it on tv. It especially got tv-esque when someone was worrying about the dead woman's toes curling up as she hardens, so someone whips out some booties and demonstrates how to pull a string in the booties which causes the toes to straighten and not curl. Beauty secrets for the dead. WTF.

Anyway, we're driving along highways (probably hwy 151 traveling eastward) in Wisconsin going towards Madison. I think Stan is in the van too, along with me, some orphaned Irish kids, and a corpse wrapped in plastic. We're also hauling a boat behind us. There is no backseat in the van, similar to the way ours is frequently when we've had large paintings to haul. I'm finding it hard not to sit on the corpse due to lack of space and the way Mitt is driving, which is rather erratic. I'm also rather puzzled what we're going to do with the corpse once we get to Madison...it's not like we can have a green funeral in Madison (which is the problem I have with this whole green funeral movement anyway...you really need to land (read: money) to do them, and what about the multitudes of urban poor, or just plain urban without a plot of green to their name unless they have ancestral land in the country (read: family money)...it's just another politically correct trendy fad that is extremely impractical for those who are disenfranchised. Yet I digress. So I ask Mitt The Driver, "we can't bury the body normally in the ground, can we?" To which he responds that we will have to sneakily bury it vertically down a hole. Flashing back to my corpse in an underground gas tank dream from a few weeks ago. I'm bobbing around in the back of the van trying to avoid sitting on the shifting corpse, and Mitt says to watch out for the cop. There was a policeman behind us, so we all try to act like nothng was abnormal.

We're getting close to home, we're on Johnson St. and First St. where Johnson continues to the right and veers off on the left merging onto...Aberg? (I've lived here over 18 years and I'm still confused by the streets). At this fork in the road, Mitt is not paying attention, he's babbling to the passengers in the van and drives up onto the strip of median. Then the van stops. We get out. I wonder why he doesn't just drive back onto the road, but Stan tells me that the power steering must have gone out, which was why he steered into the median and couldn't steer out of it. I wonder how we'll get out of this one...what will we do with the corpse? How can we hide the corpse from the towing company? Should I walk home and get a blanket to cover it? We walk over to a nearby business which is also a car repair place (which doesn't exist in that area IRL), where Mitt is inside talking to people. Stan's hair is very long and very blond. He makes a weird gesture at a young mechanic who seemed like he was making a weird gesture at me. And then I woke up. I assume Stan and I walked home at this point, leaving the problem to Mitt Romney. After all, it was his idea. Heh.

Labels: Dreams, Politically Incorrect, WTF