Remnants of a strange dream are lingering in my head. I was in Africa.
I was going down this river in a raft, with a guide. And well, there was a 50 ft crocodile leading the way. That was a little unsettling. For some reason, the guide didn't care. He said something about the crocodile, but I can't remember what it was. Or maybe I couldn't make it out over the roar of the river and the preoccupation with the huge beast in question. But eventually, we reached this small cascade, and all of a sudden the croc flips over and dies. I climb up its body and the guide is gone off somewhere, so I can continue downriver. Or was it upriver? Things have become strange and impossible now, and the raft is gone, and I am floating towards the shore, and what is on the shore of a river? Many lounging crocodiles, waiting for me to drift in. I knew it was a bad idea. Darkness.
I found myself further back, more upriver (or downriver) where there was this goddamn dog swimming after me. The owner kept saying something about the dog. I don't know why but I was more worried about the dog than the crocodiles. Well, my worries were confirmed, and the dog bit me in the balls. I don't even know how this happened, I just know the nature of the injury. The owner said, "Man, that's gonna hurt like hell for a while." Like I needed to be told this. In the dream I actually remember feeling pain.
Then there was something with cars and sleeping in strange tents. Wet clothes. Uncomfortable settings. Feeling exposed.
Eventually I arrive at this compound in the mountains. My mom is there waiting for me. She has a new job. WMD inspector. They called them like WOT's or something, but I don't know what the fuck a WOT is, so I'll refer to it as WMD. I accompanied her anyway, to make sure things didn't get dicey. The compound is actually a beautiful sprawl of a house owned by a regular family that didn't seem too suspicious. But you never know. So we searched behind paintings. We searched behind paintings for WMD's.
Jesus.
