"Sweet dreams are made of this..." - Eurythmics
Well, the all bird rock band was up and at’em again this morning, (See past post “You’re Getting Sleepy…Not”) but at least I was already awake this time. And I slept well, (a rarity these days) and with no weird dreams. Although, I can’t curse those weird dreams, as they have given me a few story ideas.
When I was a child, there was a house at the end of our street in which resided two sisters who seemed to be as old as Methuselah (at least in my child mind). They had a hedged-in back yard that you couldn’t see into, with the marsh beyond. And no one was ever around, so to me it seemed mysterious. I dreamt, one night, of pushing through the hedge and into the backyard, and as I did, stepped into a magical world of yesteryear. I’ve often thought of writing a children’s story about it, but, now it seems a little “Harry Potter”-ish. (Damn you J. K. Rowling)
As a teen, I had a recurring dream in which the sky turned orange, and aliens with two hearts and six fingers on each hand came down to Earth and took me away to their beautiful planet where everyone was happy and there was world peace. (I guess I was full of teen angst.) All I wanted was world peace...me and every beauty pageant contestant…ever.
Most of my dreams tend to be on the strange side, but I’ve gotten pretty good at analyzing them. Of course the above mentioned all bird rock band was just a rude wake-up call while trying to sleep in, the hedge was childish curiosity, and the aliens abduction, a combination of a bad day and love of sci-fi.
There are, also, the silly little snippet dreams, like the one I had about slurping soup. Plain, vegetable-less, bland broth. “Pray tell, what could that mean”, you ask? You didn’t ask? Oh, well, I’ll tell you anyway. What better for a troubled tummy than some soup?
And the one where my brother is rolling a boulder down the stairs at me. We were kids and I was sick at the time. I was too weak to move, and he was teasing me to death. (Of course, he was trying to kill me)
Then there was the one where I went to tour this heritage home. The main floor was normal, but when I got upstairs, it was one big room filled with appliances. They were laid off as the walls of rooms, and people were wandering though them choosing which they liked best. They all looked the same to me. Only a handful of us were taken to the basement. It was dark and we crouched down against the wall. The guide told us to be very quiet, and as we crouched there, very still, a raspy voice called my name. The guide took me to the source, and I found that it was an old woman with white, cataract-covered eyes. The woman read my mind and said I was the one. The guide explained that this was an important person who needed a new guardian and that I had been chosen….Okay that one was a bit too bizarre for me to analyze.
I sometimes think there is something terribly messed up in my brain, but I’d be lost without the weirdness. I guess the moral of my long, drawn-out story is, a good night’s sleep is something that is needed and wanted, but, "There's gold in them thar dreams!"
I like dreaming.