The dream last night was probably a premonition of a future season finale episode of CSI: Miami on AXN this coming Wednesday night. Nevertheless, I just thought it would be fun to detail this odd dream I had of Mr. Caine.
The setting was all CSI: Miami like in a typical episode. Yellowish bright, lush green and beautiful sunset or sunrise, depending on the time of day. Everything began like a normal and usual episode of Miami with someone getting murdered, axed, strangled, tossed down 30 storeys high, or stabbed. Each of them ending in death of course because you can't have an episode of any CSI being without a dead victim. Or maybe two if the story calls for it.
Getting ahead of my point here, everything was really playing out like an ordinary episode except that, I'm ashamed to even mention the highlight of my dream, Horatio Caine was dancing. By himself. In the middle of a road. And everyone else was oblivious to this except me watching this episode.
I think I'm embarrassed not because I really am, but for him. There is no way of explaining how my brain works. Or at least how my subconscious part works. A neurologist would be interested in knowing what makes me tick, I expect.
When it ended, meaning I woke up, I was really quite relieved. No, I did not wake up laughing.
The setting was all CSI: Miami like in a typical episode. Yellowish bright, lush green and beautiful sunset or sunrise, depending on the time of day. Everything began like a normal and usual episode of Miami with someone getting murdered, axed, strangled, tossed down 30 storeys high, or stabbed. Each of them ending in death of course because you can't have an episode of any CSI being without a dead victim. Or maybe two if the story calls for it.
Getting ahead of my point here, everything was really playing out like an ordinary episode except that, I'm ashamed to even mention the highlight of my dream, Horatio Caine was dancing. By himself. In the middle of a road. And everyone else was oblivious to this except me watching this episode.
I think I'm embarrassed not because I really am, but for him. There is no way of explaining how my brain works. Or at least how my subconscious part works. A neurologist would be interested in knowing what makes me tick, I expect.
When it ended, meaning I woke up, I was really quite relieved. No, I did not wake up laughing.
