My dream? Relatively simple. Me, at a run-down diner somewhere sitting across a table from... Grant Morrison. I am wearing glasses; they are hard to see through. (In real life I 'should,' but do not, wear glasses.) Grant Morrison is much nicer than I'd expect, not arrogant at all, (neither am I) and it seems like we are old friends. I am still screwing with my glasses and am wondering if Grant likes coffee. I know I would like some coffee. In the dream, Grant is not Scottish - but British. That's about it.
On the way to work this morning, Girlfriend-of-Apocalypse mentions that he might've been British because Scottish would be a hard accent for me to do in a dream. She may be onto something. In the past, my mind has gone out of its way to amaze me in dreams, especially in hilarity - situations such as 'Bront Bacon Burnt' on a GI Joe dossier/filecard in which he declares 'this stache,' and another dream where Bront punches a dude in the face like 100 times anime style. (Note: that guy must've had like 3 sets of teeth MINIMUM.) Anyway - I'm pretty sure I could've made Morrison sound like Connery, but that's a totally different kind of Scottish than he actually is.
The point being, if there is one (which there's not) that I had a dream about Grant Morrison (which does NOT mean I find him 'dreamy'). And not a lot of it made sense, and not a lot happened. Even out of what did happen, I had a hard time being able to focus it in and was left wanting. So I believe this is proof that Grant Morrison is now writing my dreams. Unless he's a psychic. Wait. Bald guy, psychic... could it be???
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