Can somebody explain my dream?

So last night, I had a weird dream. Well worthy of being blogged…

So, at some point, Mrs. Wirehead managed to coax me into going to a chiropractors office. I have a deep mistrust of all chiropractors… but somehow she managed to talk me into it. So the guy starts doing these weird measurement things. And I’m sitting there wondering what the heck the point of using a tape measure to measure the distance between bones on me to fill out some sort of worksheet. Like, we’re talking about him trying to measure the size of my ribcage.

So, he finishes with this eventually, and so next he pulls out a stethoscope. But he’s not checking my blood pressure or listening to my lungs or heart. No, he’s putting it in all these weird places, like all over my collar bone.

Eventually, based on his listening to my collar bone, he decides that I clearly must be an alcoholic. And, without even asking or anything, he decides to call the Betty Ford clinic and schedule me in.

And so I reached the limit of politeness and told him that he was a quack, and that I was leaving right now and, because there was my personal info on the worksheets he was filling out, that I wanted all of his records on me back before I left.

So, he gives me a bunch of other people’s documents with mine and tells me to sort them out. And I didn’t want to really see other people’s stuff, so I start rifling through the papers to find my documents.

It’s at this point that I discover that all of the documents are turning into bacon.

Crispy bacon.

So, here I am, in a waiting room with people waiting to see the quack, and I’m trying to be polite to them, and the pile is getting increasingly flakey and turning into bacon bits and there’s a wedding going on in the waiting room too.

If I remember it, they maliciously stopped the wedding just as I was leaving.

Points for extra explanation

First, you should understand that my view on Chiropractic practice is that there’s probably some stuff there that does actually work and, if it does, it should probably be entrusted to medical professionals that can base their treatment on science and evidence.

Second, you should understand that I was really tired that night. My brain was out of energy by the time I got home, so all I did was chat with Mrs. Wirehead and then watch a little bit of TV. I watched the Star Trek TNG episode “Frame of Mind”. But I knew that was the road to nightmares, so I watched the Giant Eel battle of Iron Chef.

Mrs. Wirehead’s comment: “OK … no more Iron chef for you before sleep”