I was in some kind of building (working there?) when I discovered that Jim Carrey was providing massages for people. Since I was in the vicinity and in desperate need of a massage, I decided to sign up for a massage, even though I knew I couldn't afford one.
One of my daughters had already received her Jim Carrey massage, so I decided I deserved to get one, too. However, as in my awake life, roadblock after roadblock prevented me from getting one when I wanted to get one.
I continued my day-to-day stuff, dealing with all of the interruptions until my appointment time, though I never really knew when my time would come. But then I had to interrupt – again – what I was doing to help a woman with her computer problem.
As I was looking at her computer to figure out what was wrong, I struggled to get the mouse to move. I wondered how she could work under conditions that required her to maneuver the mouse with such difficulty. Then I realized that a DVD player was sitting on top of the wire that led to the mouse. Simple solution – I removed the DVD player and suddenly her computer was working just fine.
I was getting hungry, so I ate some BBQ chicken wings and while I had sauce all over my hands and before I could find a way to wash my hands, somebody from a radio station asked me to design something for him and handed me a pack of envelopes. I tried to grab them without messing them with my fingers – which was difficult considering I was already carrying what felt like a rack of clothes in my other arm. Holding the work in one arm and the rack of clothes in the other, I was very careful to not touch anything with my BBQ covered fingers.
Still concerned about when my appointment with Jim Carrey was, I got on the elevator, got off on the 2nd floor to check for my appointment time, and walked around for a while, confused. And then realized I should have been on the third floor. Still carrying everything, still being careful to not touch anything, I found some stairs and climbed them, and ended up in the room where Jim Carrey was giving massages. Some guy had just left and Jim was there.
I felt sorry for him, thinking he must be exhausted after giving so many massages. I told him about how my oldest daughter had been a massage therapist and I understood how tiring it could be; it appeared that he had been giving massages to lots of people.
Because I had been so busy and had been interrupted so many times, I asked him what day it was – I felt as if I had been walking around for two days. He was very annoyed with my question and dramatically thew himself backward onto the couch. He was also being extremely rude to me.
Of course, I was standing there holding a bunch of clothes and the project from the radio station in my arms with BBQ sauce-covered fingers sticking out from beneath everything.
For the first time since I entered the room, Jim Carrey actually looked at me and all of a sudden his demeanor changed. He said he knew about me, that I had written a screenplay for him. I asked him how he could possibly know that, because I didn't remember telling anybody.
Apparently several of the people who write for Associated Content from Yahoo! had already been in for a massage, and they had told him about my screenplay (I didn't know they knew).
Now Jim Carrey appeared to be flattered and open to the possibility of reading it and appearing on screen for it.
I never got my massage from Jim Carrey because my dream ended, but now I'm thinking I should probably write a screenplay with him in it, or add him to an existing screenplay. Hmmm….
What I find weird about this dream, beyond the fact that Jim Carrey was giving massages, is that my waking life has seeped into my sleeping life, where chronic interruptions prevent me from accomplishing almost everything I want to finish.
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