My dreams are usually delightful or terrifying (no middle ground), but last night’s dreams were “meh.” That’s why I’m in the market for replacement dreams.
When I wake up around 5:30 or 6 a.m. most mornings, I usually react in one of three ways:
- Get up! Get cracking! So much to do!
- Whoa, that dream was awesome! I’m going to hit snooze and return to being the universally loved zillionaire indie-songstress of Croatia.
- Sweet baby Jesus, that dream was horrifying! After my newest song tanked, I transformed into a universally loathed, tone-deaf, homeless street sweeper from the former land of Narnia, which I accidentally burned to the ground whilst lighting a campfire for warmth in the snowy Croatian backwoods, thus launching the Narnian-Croatian War of 2021. Now I need to fling my $900 phone out the window so I don’t hit snooze and get another lecture from Aslan.
But not this morning. This morning when my alarm went off at 6 a.m., I was immediately transported into limbo-like pre-alertness. I mentally sailed through last night’s dreams and the sensory-emotional perceptions associated with them. And I thought to myself, “meh.”
My dreams were so boring that they aren’t worth sharing, let alone recalling. I have since abandoned last night’s dreams wholesale, which leaves me with a sense of foreboding. For some reason, I find this abandonment even more horrifying than the possibility that I’m the unloved denizen of Narnian lands I myself inadvertently ravaged. Like I’m somehow relegating myself to a lifetime of eating chicken tenders at Appleby’s instead of periodically dining on lobster risotto at Le Cirque.
In Search of Replacement Dreams
Are replacement dreams a thing? It feels as if Elon Musk must have developed this technology by now. I bet Tom Cruise has a replacement dream system up and running in his home. Assuming replacement dreams exist, what would they cost? Surely they’re not something affordable like $29.95. No, they’re probably all kinds of spendy, something Kendall Roy would blow $500K on without blinking.
Maybe I want a replacement dream. Or maybe I don’t. Maybe my dream was telling me not to write about dream sequences because nocturnal ramblings make for dull reading.
All of which makes me (and probably you) wonder why I’m writing about a dream sequence. And why I’m now commenting on the fact that I’m writing about a dream sequence.
Good news — I’m definitely not going to write about dreams in my next post. You’re welcome.