Popes!

Last night I had this crazy dream. I know you don't want to hear all the details, so I'll summarize. Note to Catholics: yes, this is probably a heretical dream. Except I'm not a Catholic, so I don't think it counts. Also, it's a dream. It probably means I was reading too many Pope-related comics before bed. (That is actually what I was doing before bed last night.)

Essentially I was staying with my good friend (who I haven't seen in like three years, but I'm sure she's still fantastic) Gretta and her parents (who weren't her parents; you know how dreams are) and they told me the Pope was in town and he was going to stay with them, so we all needed to wear appropriate humorous t-shirts (they were yellow). The Pope came to the house and was amused by our shirts. Gretta's dad (who may have actually been J. K. Simmons) took him to the garage to see his workshop. And the Pope died. Of old age! He just keeled over! But this did not surprise me because I've had this dream before. So I said to Gretta, "I've had this dream before. The Devil is coming. You have to get the Pope's miter and scepter out of his car." (The car was not the Popemobile, but like a big old '80s Lincoln.) She ran out and got them. I told her that she had to make herself the Pope so that we could defeat The Devil. "But how?" She asked. I said, "You'll make all of us Popes, and then we can take him from all sides." She said, "No, how do I make myself the Pope?" But it was too late: The Devil had arrived, and he was in Colin Farrel's body. That and a souped up old muscle car, like a Camaro or something. As Farrel (AKA The Devil) came up the front walk, it was like the intro to Mind Freak or something: his long hair all blowing in the wind, his silk shirt unbuttoned and billowing out behind him, his leather pants magically not making any weird leather noises as he walked. Then there was running around. Finally I remembered why Gretta had to make us all Popes: we had to bless the water and then throw it on him. (The Devil is like a cat, you see. Or maybe just Colin Farrel.) But it was too late and also we were bored and Gretta seemed tired (I mean, a gold miter and scepter must be heavy). So Colin Farrel just stalked around the house in his perpetual windstorm and I got a ride from Gretta's brother, Baird, to get some submarine sandwiches. (He was driving some kind of '60s Mustang with the top down. Why were there so many specific cars in my dream?) But I was still wearing my yellow t-shirt and that bothered me more than The Devil stalking around my friend's house.

Your guess is as good as mine as to what any of that means. But as Jung argued, you are everyone in your dream. So I am the Pope and The Devil? Huh. Maybe I just want to wear some leather pants but feel uncomfortable admitting it.