Fashion Show On Hoth

Once again, Yours Truly is questioning her sanity. In my ongoing journey to unravel the mysteries of my dreaming mind I have yet again been stumped. If you’ve read my past articles then you will know that I enter the dream state with extreme caution, but if this is your first time on the rollercoaster ride called Anna’s Mind let me make a firm statement before we proceed any further: The dreams I experience are not and never have been chemically induced, and (contrary to popular belief) I am not on drugs.

I have had dreams in the past that have been so real that I have woken up not knowing my name or where I was, dreams that have terrified me so badly that even years later I still shudder at the thought of them, and, of course, dreams that make me scratch my head in complete confusion. I have spent countless hours regaling friends and therapists alike with my dream traveling while ending up with the same result: they think I’m absolutely bonkers. What person in their right mind would think that dreaming of falling in love with David Hasselhoff as he performs a polka on ice skates would make them appear sane to anyone? And telling people that an ancient Egyptian God possessed you for a night will not only make people think you belong in an asylum, but they might actually drive you there themselves. So it is with extreme trepidation that I regale the following; along with my soul mate, the ice dancing polka king, and my deity Thoth, the Egyptian God of writing, it appears that my dreaming mind thinks it would be a good idea that I host a fashion show on the planet of Hoth.

Picture it, people. Hoth. The icy, remote home of Ton Tons and Abominable snowmen, and apparently the most perfect place in the universe for me to hold my little soiree. So I am standing in a cave surrounded by models dressed as robots, and I am smoking cigarette after cigarette as I watch them venture out into the freezing storm. One by one they disappear into large drifts of snow, while I scream “Grow some balls!” from the relative safety of the cave. A thought comes to me that I need to get my back up models ready, so I travel down into the dark recesses of what is now a mountain. I can hear the models talking all around me but they are so thin that I can only see them with my eyes closed. I ask them time and time again to get their robot suits on, but they refuse and push me onward. As I reach the center of the mountain I come to a stream, but I’m too frightened to drink from it. As the stream bubbles and froths and acts not at all like a stream should, a baby Ton Ton is spewed forth from it. As I cradle it in my arms, it opens its mouth and says “Use the Light”.
And I wake up asking out loud “What Light? Where’s the fucking Light?”

So now, not only am I thinking that I am secretly obsessed with David Hasselhoff and polka music, but that I am also the universe’s only Ton Ton Whisperer. I will give kudos and eternal thanks to anyone who can help me in my quest to understand my subconscious mind, but until then I suppose I shall just have to stick with what my mother tells me. My mind should come with a sign that reads: Welcome To Anna’s Dreams. A Nice Place To Visit But You Don’t Wanna Live Here.