I had a dream a couple nights ago about a very sad Ben Affleck.
I have no idea why he was sad in my dream. From what I understand, real Ben Affleck is doing okay after some substance abuse problems and what really does sound like a depression-induced back tattoo, but in the dream he was mostly just sad. Also younger.
(Ben Affleck is around my age. I think the first movie I saw him in was Chasing Amy, and from there his career has been like watching some dude I went to high school with get famous.)
Anyway, I had to fly to Paris to try and help him out. He was living out in the woods (of … Paris, apparently), and we had a long talk about sadness and life. I gave sad Ben Affleck a hug and then got in my car to drive to the airport. The trees grew up over the road, everything was dark, until I came out on a cobblestone street where there was traffic and sunlight.
The city in my dream was a city I’ve dreamt about before–sometimes it’s supposed to be Lafayette, Louisiana. Other times it’s been the town I live in now. Once or twice it’s been Philadelphia. That night it was Paris. It always has an open air market, and a University district (that includes a kick ass hotel with attached roller coaster and a water slide; these are also part of my dream-Disney World, which is usually utter crap but has seemingly decided it needs an upgrade), and is reached via long, very high bridges. I’ve only ever come into the city over the bridges, but that night I drove out of the city on the bridge for the first time. The speed limit was ridiculously fast. And I remember being amazed that I knew how to drive in Paris and that I knew my way around so well.
The flight home took about an hour. We landed in Orlando, in the middle of eery theme park in Orlando. There were flying lego zeppelins and a big Sea World tank on either side of the runway.
I saw all this stuff, but I kept thinking about sad Ben Affleck. How he was missing out on all this neat stuff in his tiny patch of night in Paris.
Laura E. Price 