I had a dismaying yet hilarious dream the other night.  For whatever reason, I have some of the most vivid dreams that I can recall on cue than most folks.  It’s as though I have lived countless lives in one lifetime.  My mother is a reincarnation nut.  She consumes books on the subject, thus she enjoys interpreting all of me dreams.

Before I started counting sheep that night, I had been on the phone discussing subjects that shall not be disclosed on the blog.  Sheep started hopping over the bed, so I drew closed my weary palpebras and travelled to that mythical place we call dreamland.

I awoke to a fiery woman screaming for me to get out of bed, for she had important news.  So, she sat me down and told me that I was going to be a pops.

We went to the doctor to verify such a suggestion.  She was indeed with child, so we started making preparations for the baby.  I was a happy man, and so was my family.  I had finally done something right, so to speak.

Eight months flew by with the snap of a finger and I found myself in the delivery room.  The fiery woman in question had transformed from that of a slim recherché figure to that of a bus with long pinkish-red marks along the side to boot.

She grabbed me by the hand and squeezed harder and harder with every contraction.  The doctor told me look because the baby was crowning.  While still under the clutches of her grip, I glanced down discovering the utter destruction that is child birth and cringed, almost passing out.

In that brief second, I noticed something weird besides the budging and ripping of skin and flesh.  There were two green antennae pushing through to the outside world. 

Seconds passed as she made the final push.  I heard a great cry from beyond the belly, and the doctor said, “Look Dad”.

He proudly held up the radiantly green baby, pointing at the ten fingers and toes and wiggling antennae.

“Beep…Beep”  Said the baby, as the two short antennae atop his head darted from side to side and an ominous grin overtook his wee green countenance.

With my mouth agape, I screamed, “That’s not my baby”.

The fiery woman squeezed my hand immensely harder, and exclaimed, “He’s yours”.

“There ain’t no way that martian is any of my genes”, I yelled whilst trying to get away from her death grip.

I ran out of the hospital with an enraged woman and crawling baby Martian following close behind.

Beep…Beep

So, it’s your turn to analyse one of my whacky dreams.  God help you. 

Ever dream of martians? 

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