Mental Flotsam, Mental Jetsam

Because the only thing that beats going crazy is going crazy with somebody else

Wednesday, February 22, 2006

One For The Books

Every so often, I’ll have a dream so downright bizarre or otherwise memorable that I feel compelled to share it. This morning was one of those occasions.

I dreamt I was Santa Claus.

I dreamt I was freaking Santa Claus. The only thing I can think of that put the bug in my ear in the first place? Sam Byck. We rehearsed Another National Anthem last night, which included my shouting “You know why I did it? Because there IS no Santa Claus!” half a dozen times. I’ll also be wearing a Santa Suit in the show, whenever our costumer tracks one down.

In the spirit of The Santa Clause, I was still me, just in the suit and expected to carry out Saint Nick’s duties. The sleigh looked like a giant armoire (brown, not red, go figure), with room for the sack, and reins hanging over the lip in front o’ me. I don’t actually recall seeing any reindeer, I was more focused on the sleigh, itself. And the sack. And the fact that I was freaking Santa Claus.

I got to the first house on the run, and it was Christmas Eve during the day. I gave myself too much time to cover the entire world, and was worried I’d end up late… Whattya want? It made sense at the time.

So there I am, in some stranger’s house, taking parcel after parcel out of a sack that never gets empty, when the man of the house shows up behind me. He’s totally cool with it. “Ah, you’re the new Santa,” or something to that effect. I shrug, and nod. I keep unloading toys. Weird.

On the second and third house, I actually run into some kids. They also believe implicitly that I’m Santa, despite the fact that A) I’m still only 25, B), I’m not fat, and C) Nary a hair on my chinny chin chin. They’re cool with it. “Hi, Santa.”

I keep making runs back to the North Pole, although I can’t imagine why; what with the magic sack. The place looks like a ski-lodge. Big log cabins, whatnot.

And the other thing? I’m scared of heights. I hate ‘em. But when I was in the Sleigh, riding high across the clouds, I was perfectly fine. Wacky.

I don’t know what to make of it. I really don’t. But it was loads of fun anyway.


Post a Comment

<< Home