I like sleep. I try to get some every day. It provides a great excuse for casual misanthropes like myself to avoid undue human contact.
But lately, I find my sleep disturbed, for my mind has apparently fallen victim to that cruelest of possible degradations of the human condition: Zionist occupation.
I’ve been having dreams in Hebrew.
They’re not very interesting, to be fair. I apparently don’t know enough of the right kind of Hebrew to dream about flying or fantastic wealth or imagining yourself as a character in a Parliament album or any of those normal recurring dreams people have. Instead, my subconscious, acting as a sort of cerebral equivalent of Nick at Nite, chops us bits of whatever boring conversations I wind up having in Hebrew that weren’t even interesting at the time.
But I worry that this might be the opening chapter of an alarming trend. Having dreams in Hebrew means that I’ve been absorbing and internalizing my environment. So, now that Hebrew has entered my subconscious without any previous knowledge, could Israeli culture be far off? Will I start wearing over-tight pants? Will I start emitting a strong and unmistakeable musk? Will I smoke incessantly and carry two cellphones? Will I spend my days split between working at my uncle’s falafel stand and trying to score with impressionable and moony American girls in Israel? Will every bite of hummus bring me that much closer to a profound and unironic appreciation for the oeuvre of Men Without Hats?
Please. My friends. If you see this beginning to happen, help me. Drag me away from my cigarette and Mr. Mister tape by my excessive forearm hair and get me deprogrammed. Before it’s too late.