At least I wasn’t Garfield

I had an odd dream last night that was in the form of simple, static comic panels, mostly colorful but a few in black and white. I don’t remember all of it, but the main comic character was me, with Far Side glasses and such. I was visiting a vacation cabin by a lake. I wanted to show my amazing travel skills so I took a small group of people for a walk in the area surrounding the cabin even though it was my first visit. I was trying to show off off for no real clear reason or benefit.

After I’d pointed out several things that were shown on the map I had, we arrived at a building that had stacks of kayaks and swim fins and picnic tables and such in front of it, and for some reason, cartoon-me thought it would be fun to make a mess of it. I started breaking things and throwing stuff around and scratching the woodwork and busting up canoes. Everyone else gleefully joined in.

Before long, it started to feel like we had gone too far, and one person took me aside. With clouds of cartoon destruction-dust in the background, we surveyed the map together. We traced our route with fingers on the map, and with horror, it became clear to me that we had actually already arrived at the place I had rented and was meant to stay.

It didn’t feel good to know that I had initiated the destruction to begin with, but it felt much worse to discover that the place had been explicitly under my care and protection while it happened.

Then I woke up for a while.