Strange dream about George W. Bush
Weird dream from early morning (3 a.m.?) of July 21, 2004:
I’m on what seems to be a campaign bus for George W. Bush. Everyone on board hates him, especially in the back where I am. A woman comes to get me and says I’m to see him personally, that I’ve been granted special time. I’m taken off the bus and go to sit with him in a dentist’s office he’s using. He has me sit down across from him and I take a good look at him. He’s wearing a white doctor’s uniform, has a stethoscope around his neck, and seems absolutely out of his mind. His hair is wild and his eyes are darting. He inserts a probe into the palm of my right hand – I ask him if this is absolutely necessary and he says it is. The probe is attached to a long catheter tube, and when he’s got it fully inserted, he starts to pump with a foot pedal and his large purple balloon rises from inside my palm. I’m amazed by this. He looks it over approvingly and says to the woman that this one seems just fine. I’m speaking with him sympathetically – he just can’t seem to get a break, I know he had good intentions in Iraq, it’s a shame no one likes him – while he performs the same procedure to the other palm. He’s surprised by my sympathy – and so am I! I’m wondering how much of a weasel I am; am I sympathetic because now, confronted with the man behind the headlines, I feel for him, or because he’s the president and I’m a sheep? I’m led back onto the bus and the woman announces to everyone that my procedure was a great success. I hold up my palms for all to see. They jeer at me for being friendly to Bush and saying nice things.
After a bit, Bush comes onto the bus and sits down next to me. I must be his only friend. I don’t think I’m his friend at all, so I’m confused by my own reactions, because now I’m feeling truly sorry for him if he has confused me for a friend when my only idea was to be polite. Now thrilled by our budding friendship, he has offered to detour the bus so he personally can drive me home. I give him directions. At some point the bus becomes a large stakebody truck in which we’re all sitting in the back. We pull up to my home – which is more like an apartment complex with a large parking lot. We pull in and I jump out excitedly to show everyone who I’ve got with me – I may not be entirely crazy about him, but hey, he’s hanging out with me, so this shows a new level of power and influence for me. I say, “Mr. President, can you wait 30 seconds? Please? I’d really like to get a picture.” I can’t believe I called him “Mr. President” because I know damn well he wasn’t elected – now I’m really feeling like a weasel, but I’m excited by the prospect of my having a photo of the two of us together that I can use on the website. He says, “You really mean two minutes” and says it to mean that I have only two minutes.
The front door is locked, so I try to scramble in from an upstairs window, except they have large wooden barriers from the inside. Meanwhile, my neighbors and guests, specifically including my friend Elaine, start to flood out to check on all the excitement. My wife hands me the camera very reluctantly – she hates Bush and can’t imagine why I’m hanging out with him and, worse, am excited about it! – but I grab it and run back to have the assistant woman take my picture. Bush poses with me and I’m wondering just how useful this picture will be given that everyone hates him and he’s lost his mind and looks it. Bush shakes Elaine’s hand, but while everyone else is impressed to see him in my parking lot, no one else is eager to shake his hand. He scowls and climbs back into the stakebody truck. I run after him and ask if please I can get him to go to meet my son Lex’s friend Brandon, because the boy idolizes Bush.
This is just the tonic Bush needs, so we’re off again.