Professor Coldheart was a fascist pig

I seldom remember my dreams these days. I don’t know if it’s that I have so many other things on my mind that I simply don’t care to remember or if it’s that I never quite get the proper combination of sleep and rest (there IS a difference, see), causing me to wake abruptly every morning. This is the case most of the time and my first thoughts are not typically about whatever I had been dreaming throughout my (minimal) hours of dormancy; my first thoughts are to curse the day from the very start.
Involuntary exclamations usually occur. Among them, “shit!”, “dammit!” and “good grief!” are most popular (and yes, I’m aware that the latter most does not necessarily fit in with the two former, thank you very much).

At any rate, I happened to remember my dream this morning, even though I was waking with an abrupt start. It was strange. Weird. Different. Again, weird.

I wanted a tattoo (I’ve wanted one for years and years), so I went on a quest to acquire one. I found this tattoo artist who ran his five-star operation out of a trailer or mobile home. The “front” door of the mobile home was rusty and protested angrily when I pulled it open to walk inside. The racket of the door caught the ear of a snoozing boxer nearby. Luckily, I didn’t seem to spark his interest quite enough to abandon his mid-day snooze. The pooch twitched his ear back and then forth and then returned his eyes to the closed position.

The artist was found inside, in the back, near the over-glorified port-a-potty. The lighting was dark, yellow-ish, reminiscent of Fight Club. The tattoo guy was big, but not scary. Almost laughable actually.
I blinked and he was finished. I don’t even remember telling him what I wanted on my arm. In fact, I don’t remember telling him that I wanted it on my arm. But that’s where he put it. And before I knew it, there was a band-aid (yes, I know) on my arm and he was finished.
I woke the next morning (still in the dream) and found that I had a stained glass (ish) design of a tiger on my arm. The tiger was lashing out at… at, well… not sure. I guess whatever unsuspecting victim happened to be looking at the tattoo. It was huge. It covered my entire upper arm. Underneath the tiger the words “Made in the Philippines” had been etched into my skin. This part is interesting because Firstly, I was not made in the Philippines. Secondly... well, there is no secondly. That's it. I was not made in the Philippines.
It was so hideously ugly but so incredibly fascinating. I felt regret immediately though. A tiger?! MADE IN THE PHILLIPINES?! WTF?!!
So yeah, this is what I woke up remembering this morning.

I know that dreams are connected to whatever experiences we have during the day, but as I thought about it this morning on my drive into work (yes, it mystified me THAT much. I thought of it on my drive into work. I analyzed it even! Ha!), I realized that I had never made such strong connections to previous day’s activities. Let’s see the comparisons, shall we? Oh yes, I know you want me to list them here. Hoo-rah.

1. The Tattoo: A friend was over last night and we all discussed our long-felt desires to get tattoos. In an effort to be oh-so-pious and non-defiant (for my parents’ sake) I stated that I would not get a tattoo until I was married and away from their rule. I'm so clever, eh?

2. The Mobile Home: I was discussing yesterday morning with a friend my father's latest and greatest idea to sell his house and travel the country in a mobile home, spending his final days roaming about with my mother and a schnauzer. I do not support this idea.

3. The Tiger: I happened to be messaging a friend last night and called him "Tiger" and then I roared (as best one can roar on instant messenger. I believe it goes something like this: "ROWR!") *ahem*

4. Made in the Philippines: I was noticing yesterday and was quite mystified by the fact that there are so many people from the philippines on both Myspace and Friendster. The contrast really is quite stark (philippines dwellers vs. non-philippines dwellers). This might call for a chart of some sort, be it pie, bar, line, or otherwise.

Anything else mentioned in my dream synopsis has no bearing whatsoever on any other activity that I took part in throughout the course of my day. In fact, much of it was fabricated right here and right now (go jesus jones, go!).

This is far more fun than work, but really lends no assistance in accomplishing my professional goals. Hence, I should get back to the proverbial grind.

Haha. Who am I kidding?