Analyze This

The other night I had a dream. I don't usually remember my dreams, partly because they're frequently interrupted by Grant screaming or Erin griping that I've stolen something from her (the electric blanket, the comforter, her dignity, etc). But the other night, I had a dream so vivid that I've been thinking about it ever since.

It started with my entire family on my dad's side sitting in a room debating. It wasn't clear what they were debating, at first, but my dad and uncle were obviously very bothered about the whole thing. Eventually they came to a consensus, at which point they came over to explain the situation to Erin and I.

Apparently, in my dream, you could bring someone back from the grave, but only for a relatively short amount of time. The ongoing debate between my dad and uncle surrounded the individual our family had chosen to revive -- my great grandfather, Dewey.

Anyone that has known me for any length of time has heard at least one Dewey story. He was eccentric, possibly to the point of being what one might call "disturbed." He had a parrot that he fed coffee and bacon to in the morning. He had an organ in the family room of his house, but he'd only play the black keys. He believed you could heal burns by saying a poem -- something about "blow out fire, blow in frost." He was one card short of a full deck, you might say.

Anyway, apparently we had decided, for whatever reason, to bring back Dewey. Part of the revival procedure involved riding with the coffin through a series of conveyor belts and mazes. But you actually started in the ground at the grave site. So Erin and I rode with the coffin, which was terrifying. The entire journey you could see Dewey's feet sticking out of the bottom of the coffin, and he was angrily kicking at the lid complaining that we weren't moving fast enough at getting him unpacked.

Once we returned to the first room, we unboxed Dewey. He was in a burial suit and was a bit musty, but otherwise in tact. We immediately began grilling him with questions about our family history. At first he obliged, but he quickly became agitated -- true to his living character.

Meanwhile, my mom searched around the room for a pad of paper and pencil to write down what he was telling us. Nobody could believe that we were so ill prepared for the experience of reviving this dude, but seeing my mom scampering around looking for something to write with seems pretty true to form.

Eventually I awoke to the sound of Grant screaming. I immediately began wondering why we hadn't chosen more intriguing questions to ask my great grandfather, like why he used to throw live wires in the sink while you washed dishes, or how he'd manage to spew crazy genes throughout our family tree. But alas, I'll have to wait until we dig him up again to ask the tougher questions.

I need a drink.