Compliments of the e-mail conversation I’ve been having with Jenny today.  This is an extract regarding a bizarre dream I had recently.  My dreams normally come true.  I know what you’re thinking, and I wholeheartedly disagree.  It’s not that my dreams are prophetic — or maybe it is.  It’s just that 99.9% of my dreams are ambiguously predictive.  What does that mean?  Simple: All but one in a thousand of my dreams cause me to experience déjà vu at a later date.

Again, I realize that makes me sound crazy, but it’s true.  No, I don’t dream of lottery numbers or who will win the next election or where to drill for oil.  My dreams, like so many others, are abstract and generally detached from current events.  They are almost always unremarkable.  Despite that, and it may be years later, I will almost always suddenly realize I have experienced something before.  It is then I fully remember the dream, an epiphany regularly augmented by the memories of when I dreamt it.  It’s weird.  I can admit that.  It’s also quite true and has never seemed out of the ordinary.  Then again, I don’t know what everyone else dreams about.

Anyway…

Jenny and I have been discussing a weird dream she had.  During the course of that conversation, I related a dream I had just the other day.  It struck me then as quite odd.  It strikes me now as quite odd.  Then again, as I said, one in thousand of my dreams is totally unusual.

From me:

I recently dreamt I discovered a new species of hot-weather penguin that lived right here in Texas; can you say “Freak!”?

From Jenny with a good-hearted ribbing about it:

A warm-weather penguin huh? [D]id it hatch its eggs by placing them on its head and cooling them? [T]hat’s funny…

And my response:

[T]he funny thing about discovering that hot-weather penguin was that all I did to discover it was look out my bedroom window. Despite those windows looking out on a concrete patio (the dream took place where I live now), there was grass and a large, very weird looking penguin sitting on the window ledge outside (which I don’t have) with perhaps six babies hanging out with their mother. Then she waddled off and they followed — to their nest that also rested in the grass that was growing on my patio. It was no more than a foot or two away from the window. Quite odd, and even more disconcerting that there were a lot of people walking by who never noticed the birds until I said something, and then it was all “Look what he found! Wow! What a great discovery!” Um, okay… Anyway, it was quite weird… Strange.

Therein lies the end of this installment of “Jason’s a fucking loon!”