Hip-nap-sters

I woke up this morning in a sweat, hoping that I could turn off the alarm fast enough that my brain would jump back into my dream, so that I'd be able to finally see what was on the screen and finally understand what I'd been dragged through in the past few hours of sleep.

It all started in a red house with a clean, new cement driveway and lawn of crisp, green grass and forest growing up in the backyard. The driveway came up to the side of the house to a garage, so positioned to be invisible from the street. Inside that garage, there was some old farm equipment, so that, from the inside, the garage actually seemed more like a barn with a cement floor. On the back wall of the garage, tall planks of wood had separated, letting in long crevices of light, which were joined with spots that had come through empty knots in the planks. I was standing in this garage, reading a long message that had been spray painted on the floor. I don't remember exactly what it said, but it had something of the look of a logo, but with far too many words for a logo. In my mind, I knew who had done this, and I was annoyed. There were people with me, and we were talking about the paint on the floor, calling the artists dirt bags (and d-bags) and laughing annoyedly about it.

Suddenly, the garage was opened and a large group of people came in. They were gloriously dressed in their best ironically chic vintage hipster clothing, and they had come to take us. There were probably fifty of them, and only 3-5 of us (though, of course, I don't really remember much about them), and they were kidnapping us. We were packed into a long line of cars and we were headed to St. George. I protested, knowing that I was supposed to sing at the funeral of a stranger. I was tempted to lie to those who had kidnapped me, to tell them that it was my grandma's funeral, and how dare they keep me from going to my grandma's funeral. I was appalled. Once we arrived in St. George, we entered a large house. It was kind of like there was a house party going on, and I was being dragged around by the lead female hipster who was going to tell me all about her adopted "cause," her raison d'etre, the passion of her life, after which I was going to have to listen to every other cause adopted by every other person I'd come in contact with.

I was furious, and terrified. Even as I summon the memory, I feel little tremors of fear. Why was I so frightened? What was it about these hipsters and their stupid causes that was freaking me out so badly?

I only know that I was about to find out just what her cause was, and even though I was scared, I was suddenly curious enough to want to know what the heck had inspired this person to kidnap me and take me to St. George. ...

And then the alarm went off.

I wish I could sleep for a very long time, at least until the end of my dreams. It seems so unfair to have to wake up and not know, almost like my brain knew when I was going to have to wake up and left me with a cliffhanger. Dreams are so strangely fascinating. I kind of love them a lot. Even when I'm being kidnapped by hipsters and it scares the bajunk out of me. :)