Typically, most prime-time dramas ultimately get to a point where they have a musical episode.  House, M.D., and Nip / Tuck come to mind as series that have, in later seasons featured at least one episode where there are song and dance scores.  Such episodes are the oddest ones, because typically song and dance have positive connotations, and we’re expected to be excited, entertained, and made happy by seeing such boisterous activity.  But in drama shows like the ones mentioned, the musical episodes’ routines always go the way of ironic.  They’re still visually and sometimes audibly entertaining, but the subject matter in which they’re performing to, is usually either hinted through cryptic undertones, or blatantly, negative.  Cuddy has cancer and is going to die.  Christian Troy might have the HIV and could die.  Julia’s child is going to be born with a physical defect.  Etc, etc.

Last night, I had a dream, that was the ironic musical episode of dreams.  It’s amazing how a dream can feel like it takes place in an eternity, but when trying to re-tell it to yourself, it only takes seconds.  Yet the impact of such a dream has me feeling miserable, and honestly was capable of altering my entire evening.

It’s not so much that there was a lot of song, but there was certainly music.  How it went, I have no idea, but it was something to where there was dancing to be performed to it.  And it wasn’t people doing it, but animals.  Lots of animals.  Domestic pets, dogs and cats.  Amidst these animals were animals that were somehow familiar to me, but I couldn’t tell you which ones they were to save my life, save for one.  In unison, on their hind legs, awkwardly balanced, they danced, in an entertaining, YouTube-million-hits-like way.  Within my dream, I couldn’t shake this apprehensive feeling, as if I were aware that I were in the ironic musical, and that something bad was going to happen.

The next thing I know, I hear “just the canines,” and before I know it, it’s only the dogs left on stage, continuing to dance.  Wobbly legged, moving around on stage.  Suddenly, the voice calls out for “the old ones” and suddenly, it’s the Nik up on stage, by himself.  With his last ounces of energy, he tippy-toes around the stage, trying his hardest to keep balance, and do a spin.  It’s clear he wants to do it one more time, but he just can’t.  Age has caught up to him, in spite of his efforts, and the rest was just a blur, but I knew that he was gone.  This was a song and dance for his passing, that I’d rather have never seen.

I woke up at 3 in the morning, quietly, and not to like any ridiculous cold sweats.  I just opened my eyes, glanced at the alarm console on the wall, and then the clock.  I had never wanted to cry more than that moment in my entire life, or so it feels like.

Typically, Wednesdays are trivia nights.  When recollection of the dream came back to me earlier today, I decided to forgo trivia, and come straight home and sit around with the Nik instead.  Reality dictates that the Nik won’t live forever, and when the fateful day comes, if this is any indication, I’m going to be a fucking trainwreck for weeks.