Okay, so I had another dream about Constance Pheaux-Rocker last night. This time I was a contestant on AI4 (I think I was in Anthony Federov’s spot). So we’re all hanging out, and I said something disparaging about CPR to a reporter which he overheard. He goes storming off into another room, and for a brief nanosecond I feel bad.
That night on the kick-off show, CPR gets the boot. When the show is done and we’re all back at the communal house (do they live in a communal house this time? I don’t think they do – I think they are in a hotel or something) and he’s sulking upstairs while packing his stuff. I feel miserable, blaming myself for his getting the boot, and Scott Savol (who was surprisingly NICE in my dream) makes me feel better by consoling me.
In the end I feel guilty, so I go up to CPR’s room and apologize. I tell him that I know I should be the one going home, not him. “I know I’m not the American Idol,” I said. “I know it should be me going home – I’m not stupid.” With that I slump onto the sofa and begin sulking. He sits down next to me and all of a sudden there’s this weird energy – kind of like a bomp chicka wow wow energy that comes out of nowhere, if you know what I mean.
To be honest I don’t remember much from the CPR part of the dream after that (it eventually moves into new territory involving a girl who eats crayons and my uncle’s drawings of unicorns to give Napoleon Dynamite a run for his money). When I woke up I thought about writing it all down so that I could post the full transcript, but didn’t get the chance. Just know that I’m horrified that I had yet another icky dream about CPR. Icky in a way that would make other girls swoon, I suppose, but for me? :puke:
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