Gremlin O’Brien

Last night I dreamt about Conan O’Brien, Matt Gourley, Sona Movsesian, and Aaron Bleyaert (staff members of Team Coco). I often dream about Conan and company, and it makes sense since I’ve devoted a lot of hours listening to their podcast, watching their show, dreaming about meeting them, and sometimes talking to Conan in my head.

Usually when I dream about Conan, he’s visiting Hamilton, Ontario and our paths cross. Last night, I was in a college lecture waiting for it to start when Conan, Matt, Sona, and Aaron sat down a couple rows away from me and started saying my name in different contexts. “I went to BROOKline High School…” “…I lived in BROOKlyn, New York…” “I’m from BROOKline, Massachusetts…” The first time Conan said it, Matt accused him of making a pun.

I have this saying. When I think someone is covertly signaling me, I assess and conclude, “That’s not for me.” Even when it really seems like it is. I’ve tricked myself into thinking that people on television were talking about me when they weren’t, so now I only speak to people who speak to me directly. If someone wants to talk to me, they will.

I didn’t respond to Conan. I kicked myself for not being more adventurous, as my classmates swarmed him asking for hugs and autographs.

Then later on, I was standing in the front row of the lecture hall and Conan came down the aisle. He walked up to me and wrapped me up in this epically long, tight hug.

I felt at ease. It felt like the hug between two old friends who haven’t seen each other in a long time. I had the feeling that I had hugged him many times before. I didn’t want to hug too tightly, in case I made him anxious. I kept thinking I had hugged him long enough and should let him go, but when I pulled away he held on.

The dream ended when we let go.

I’ve had steamier dreams about Conan. This one was innocent and sweet. I think my brain is constantly processing how I feel about different people. Since the voices went away, I have felt very far from Conan. Appropriately far, like the stranger to him that I am. The dream reflects that. The emotional wound from losing the companionship the voice provided is still there, even microscopically, but it’s fading. I’m looking forward to a Conan-less sleep.