I don’t usually remember my dreams. They just seem to spin through my head, sort out the day’s data, and evaporate like morning dew. If I want to recall my cartoons of slumber, I have to wake immediately after the dream and transcribe the hole thing. Like hell, if I am going to ruin a perfectly good nights slumber to write down something that bores most people.
We know that we are heading into a dull conversation when someone starts off with, “I had the strangest dream.” It is hard to find a more redundant statement. All dreams are strange. And that person will go to try to tell a narrative that has no point. Dreams amble through the psyche pulling together elements from our waking world and our emotional life. They are not supposed to make sense. Dreams are to be taken at face value. Dreams are strange.Here are a couple of recent examples: I am starting to have my naked people dreams again. For me this is both a torture and a pleasure. The pleasure is obvious. I get to see naked women in my dreams. Psychic porno. The torture is that my mind rarely will let me get to the ultimate gratification that can be had with naked people in my dreams. I haven’t had a wet dream in years.
Three nights ago, I dreamed that I was in neglected house. It felt cutoff from the daylight. The plaster lathes were bare, the wood floor had no luster. It was dusty. (Generally, I associated buildings with my psyche. Especially, when I am inside them.) The one beautiful thing in this house was a woman. She was voluptuous, blonde, tall, and ready to share a smile. We talked and walked through the house. In a brief period (who can say how time passes in dreams), this blue-eyed beauty ended up nude in my arms. I could feel her soft skin in my hands. The rounds of her breasts brushed against my arms. The only thing I could think to to say was, “Don’t you think we should introduce ourselves?” Then I woke up.
That is another annoying element of the dream narrative. Everyone has to say that they woke up. The dream always gets cut off when it starts getting interesting, and “Then I woke up” acts the dream narratives “The End” statement. How friggin’ annoying is that? The narrator, should he or she be so lucky to have a dream worth listening to, has to clip the story right at the most interesting moment.Here’s another example of ending as it gets interesting. I am in a department store (from dream house to dream department store. My psyche doesn’t really have a very consistent view of itself.) with friends. We are chatting about goods and services, I suppose, when a Japanese woman approaches (I have thing for Asian women). She seems a bit odd, but very cute. The Japanese woman only smiles and flirts with me. She never says anything. I return the eyes, but don’t pay her much attention. In the middle of my conversation with others, I realize that she is now in my arms. Furthermore, she is naked. I realize this when I squeeze my hand shut and find that it surrounds the petite globe one of her breasts. In my shock, I look down at her and see that she is naked. The Japanese just turns her eyes to me and grins. Then I woke up. (Isn’t that just flippin’ annoying?)
Dreams are just nuisances. They invade the slumber hours, cast riddles and titillations, and then evaporate in the morning. Then we are left with a vague feeling that something of great wonder, horror, pleasure, or curiosity occurred the night before. It is so unfair that such streams of consciousness should occur and we are not given the pleasure of recall. If I cannot at least recall then dream, then at least leave me a wet spot as a sign of having fully enjoyed it.
