Never one to waste a drop of wine, I remembered the opened bottle in the basement refrigerator. While stealthily retrieving it, however, I ran into comedian Denis Leary and a woman I assumed was his girlfriend. The two of them were having a spirited argument — one about me, and specifically my drinking.
“This is awkward,” I said.
“We need to talk,” the girlfriend replied, at which point Denis exited promptly, muttering under his breath.
I don’t recall the “talk” in my dream, but the lights came on in the basement, followed by a parade of dozens of people grabbing folding chairs and sitting down, all with a sense of purpose. They included friends old and new, work colleagues past and present — even my ex-wife and her extended family. I was happy to see my children, although the circumstances seemed more than a little bit weird.
While this had all of the hallmarks of an intervention, said spectacle never materialized. People began to get restless and break off into sidebar conversations, leaving the kids to play while I tried to catch some sleep despite all of the chaos.
When I woke up, several friends and former colleagues bid me farewell.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t stay longer, but hey, best of luck to you.”
The kids had managed to find a toy that resembled a remote controlled helicopter, but upon closer inspection was a little man, about the size of a bowling pin, covered with blinking lights and whirring in the air. After hovering to the delight of the children, it took aim on my back and jabbed me repeatedly.
I woke up to our dog Tito pawing me in the back while he dreamed.