I dream of MJ
If I’d dreamt of being married to Michael Jackson back in the ’80s when I used to kiss his yellow sweater-vest poster every night before bed, I would have been super-psyched. Unfortunately alot has changed for poor MJ since then, so the dream I had of being married to him last night was definitely a nightmare. We were in a giant middle-eastern compound (probs in Bahrain). It was Michael and I, my mom who was visiting us and pretending to like Michael, and tons and tons of kids of every nationality from all over the world. Michael had the gleam of religious zealotry in his eyes, and told me he intended to save every one of these children’s souls by teaching them about Jesus. He reminded me that in the country where we lived, girls had to be segregated from boys, so it was my job to minister to all the little girls while he went off to spend quality time with the little boys. I didn’t feel good at all about leaving him alone with all of those little boys, but I was intimidated by MJ. He was incredibly rich and powerful, and he had the upper hand in this country because he was (barely) a man and had the legal right to kill me if I disputed his authority. I decided that I would try to flee the country with my mom and all the little girls from many lands, and would figure out where to eventually return the kids once we got out of there. I was watching, waiting, and planning for a while as Michael rounded up all the boys to adjourn to some kind of playroom. My heart was pounding, he left the room, I gave a signal to my mom and was about to make a break for it when I woke up covered in sweat.