Thursday, September 03, 2009

Weird dreams: it's best to simply forget them!

Hump Day
By Brian Cormier
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Moncton Times & Transcript
Editorial Page

Last Friday night, I had a bunch of work to do at home on the computer, so I decided it would be a good idea to brew a pot of coffee to keep me awake long enough to accomplish what I needed. Normally, I can have a bit of caffeine at night and it doesn't bother me much, but Friday was another matter.

Eventually, I put the work away and crawled into bed at 11:30 p.m., so tired I could barely keep my eyes open. As soon as my head hit the pillow, of course, I was wide awake. The coffee kicked in about three hours after I'd finished it. Sheesh!

I tossed and turned for a good hour before I finally drifted off into a fitful sleep that put my internal dream machine in imagination overdrive. By the time I awoke with a start at 1:30 a.m., I'd had a very odd dream.

If there are any psychologists or psychiatrists out there reading this, feel free to send in your analysis, unless of course it's really bad. Then, I just don't want to know. I'd rather live happily in blissful ignorance that the dream meant I will die by choking on a hockey puck in the next 24 hours.

Anyway, in my dream, I lived in a McDonald's Restaurant. Why? I have no idea. Do our dreams ever make sense? Mine certainly don't. In fact, I prefer to forget them because they're usually so bloody weird that I'm afraid I'd be locked away forever in a padded room if someone ever found out what went through my pretty little head at night.

So, I'm lying in bed (in my dream... in the restaurant) and suddenly remember that I've forgotten to lock the door. I'm panicked! Even though the lights are all off, people would still want to come in to eat, right? By the time I rushed to the door, there was a large crowd walking toward it wanting to be fed. And this was no ordinary crowd, either. It was a combination of zombies, angry thugs wanting to rob me, and a variety of Halloween trick-or-treaters who happened to be childhood neighbours of mine.

Now, I have no blessed idea where all this came from. I suppose Halloween decorations are starting to sneak into stores here and there, but honestly I've seen more Christmas stuff than Halloween, so I don't think that's the case. Besides, I hate Halloween. Forgetting to lock the door? I can't remember the last time I did that. Childhood neighbours? Well, I suppose I don't live far from the house I was raised in, so I can perhaps understand that.

I'm glad I don't normally let strange dreams such as this one get to me too much. If I did, then I'd really need to plop myself down on a therapist's couch for a really long conversation that would probably end up with me being told that I want to marry my sister, kill my brother, send my father to prison for yelling at me for trying to set fire to the house, and push my mother off a cliff for burning supper back in 1972. Thankfully, I forget most of the dreams that make no sense.

I admire those who can actively take part in their dreams. Some people actually realize that they're dreaming and say, "Oh to heck with it! I'm gonna enjoy this dream and have some fun!" Not me. I never realize I'm dreaming and get quite caught up in all the drama. My logic is completely turned off, so if I end up dreaming of walking down a red carpet in full regalia during my coronation ceremony as Queen of England, I would wake up waving to the imaginary crowds and yelling for crumpets.

Thankfully, I don't have many true nightmares.

I did when I was kid, of course. One of them is still a legendary family tale of my arriving in my parents' bedroom so panic-stricken and hysterical that you'd think that all my G.I. Joe action figures had come to life and tried to take me hostage.

Maybe it's for this reason that I don't enjoy slasher movies -- you know, the ones where a band of teenagers camping or spending the night in an old abandoned house get killed off one-by-one until, eventually, the lunatic who's murdering them all dies in some climactic explosion at the end? (Well, he never actually dies. They need to produce all those sequels, right?)

I spend my time during those movies with my eyes closed and my hands over my face. They are about as relaxing as accidentally locking yourself in a cage with a hungry lion right after spraying yourself with your new cologne, "Eau de Filet Mignon."

I don't like being startled, either. You know how some people get their kicks scaring other people by jumping out of closet doors or from behind bushes to scare the living daylights out of you? They think it's funny.

Well, try that with me and you're likely to get strangled right there or turned into a human pretzel. I must have died in a previous life by being attacked from behind, because every time I get startled I lash out like I'm fighting for my life.

I feel bad, of course, but none of that really matters after I'm holding your kidney in my hand and asking, "Sorry! Do you want this back?"

I'm glad I'm not married to someone who's a professional dreams analyst.

I don't think the marriage would last long before they'd be running down the street screaming in terror. Of course, that could be a good thing if I wanted the marriage to end.

"Honey, did I tell you about the dream I had last night about inviting all our friends over for a big dinner with all the fixings? The main course was roasted you!"

No comments: