If it be thus to Dream: or Actor Kate's delusions of destructions

So i know I have the same name as my character (though I am more often cursed than curst) but there is a point where one wants to leave the wooing and shrewing behind and settle down to peaceful slumber.
Everyone's had the "oh my! the play's about to open and I'm naked without money in a desert in Tunisia and my camel ate my passport then dropped dead!" dream, right?
But I have now evolved to a more complex state of what doctors may--one day--call sub-conscious-narco-drametus obsession. As I slept last night, two characters from the play snuck into my dream. Petruchio and Hortensio joined me in a quest to find *inhale*... something! i do not remember what and the "what" is not what's important for "whats" in the end are usually found wanting. Rather it is the Quest that drives a dream and no Quest could be complete without side kicks. Thus, in a wonderful change of positions (perhaps stemming from a deeply repressed need to control even false semblances of proto-masculine figures) Petruchio became my side-kick and Hortensio downgraded even further to the side-kick of the side-kick. And so we began our Quest for the "what."
The thing about "Whats" is that everyone wants them. So in a Quest for a "what" you inevitably have to battle nazis, ninjas, crusaders, magicians,rabid puppies or possessed kittens. In the case of me and my hapless cast-mates, we had to battle traffic. Yes, hoards of taxi-cabs, scratched-up Mercedes,vengeful Minis, and hellish hybrids dogged us through the streets. We ran and dodged over boulevards and through alleys while massive collisions followed in our wake. No CG rendering could ever live up to the vivid destruction that lay behind us.
With amazing agility I saved Hortensio from a raging Hummer and tossed a clue to the location of the "what" to Petruchio in that same glorious leap. Then the three of us took on a beast of a Caddy with monster shocks and battled our way through a place that vaguely resembled Union Square. (If I could control dreams I would have definitely put a cable-car chase in at this point, but instead...) The ground gave way beneath us and we found ourselves in a dark labyrinth of a parking garage. At this point I think Hortensio was hit by a yellow Beetle with a peace sign on the side. Don't worry, he lived. We carried him (or he levitated?). Next, Petruchio was clipped on the leg by Sharon Stone's limo (Ok,so I just made the limo bit up). At this point, I have one side-kick hobbling like a crab, the other is semi-conscious and levitating, and I only have one measly clue about the whereabouts of the "what." But never fear, Kate will persevere!
Somehow I get a light-saber-like object and slice my way out of the parking garage which it now appears in on the top of a sky-scraper. I and my trusty, but road-rag'ed, companions stand staring at the abyss below when suddenly I'm pushed from behind. Then as is always true, the dream ends without satisfaction. The "what" remains out of my reach and the identity of my pushy assailant remains unknown. Was it a vehicle returned from the dead or could it,would it possibly be one of my own dear comrades? Ah I shall never know.
So what did we learn from this little tale about Theatre, shrews and the meaning of life?
That the malevolent manifestation of destruction symbolizes the downfall of the human endeavors to master their globalized over-birth of technology?
or perhaps... that when a mind is singularly focused on inhabiting a performance the theater reality can become interwoven into all aspects of one's life.
Or...more likely, the moral is that you should never trust a person who's name ends in "io"
-Kate