You see, I don't have normal nightmares. I don't get chased by the Alien or have a vagina bite my penis off like a healthy well-adjusted individual. I have complicated and lengthy nightmares with multiple settings, deeply personal fears unearthed, and a head full of sand when I wake up. It's kind of like I felt when I realized that no matter what I accomplished or who I managed to seduce I'd still have to wake up every day in bed with myself.
It took place in Hollywood, a city full of nightmares and tragedy. Not to mention, in my dream, a lot of really poor color choices on the houses. There was fuscia. Fuscia on the walls. That would have been bad enough, but there was other stuff. I was looking for work, but every job I took I ended up in front of the camera instead of behind it, and I was universally awful. I was treated like crap and as a pawn in power games between producers. One guy whose house was being rented for a shoot turned out to be obsessed with my father, believing he was still alive and a traitor to his country for China. I had to climb a lot of stairs. At one point I filled an entire basement with broken jars of rotting pickles and was forced to clean it up myself. It was all very fractured and strange and I woke up with mixed feelings since I was no longer being asked to step into a Chris Farley role in a really bad movie but then again I was no longer in the business.
Also I didn't have half a ton of rotting pickles to clean up