Dreams I’ll never see

It’s a good thing. Believe me.

When I do have dreams, they are vivid. I don’t always dream or remember my dreams because I don’t always sleep well. Sometimes, though, I sleep so soundly I’m sure I’m walking the spirit world in my sleep. That, or I’m a recurring abductee and the space mans are messing with my mind. But that’s another story. This one is about dreams I’ll never see. And it’s a good thing, believe me.

Sleep is intrinsically important to our overall health and well-being. Science tells us our brains regenerate during sleep cycles. That’s pretty impressive since my brain was showing me pictures of Mike Tyson with a gaggle of Canadian geese running around in my backyard screaming, “Releath the geeth!” while it performed magical restorations on itself last night. Brains are wild, man. What little we actually know about the brain makes a great argument for the aforementioned recurring abductee references.

You hear a lot about ‘manifesting your dreams’ but I’m pretty sure I’d get arrested for manifesting some of mine. It wouldn’t be a bad trick when I needed a talking fish with human eyes, or an evil green monkey with six tails but I can’t think of any situation beyond alien abduction in which I might be in need of a human eyed talking fish for anything other than to scare my brother with.

Interpreting dreams has been a pass time for eons. Back in the day, if the king had a dream about rotten fruit three nights in a row the entire religious structure of the kingdom would change and people would lose their heads, like, for real. Unfortunately, no one took into consideration that the king was likely rife with syphilis and his brain closely resembled cotton-candy Swiss cheese while he was making all these proclamations. (Actually, that doesn’t sound too far off from today’s current political situation in America. I digress.)

‘Make your dreams come true’ might be awesome if I wasn’t fairly certain I’d die from it. I can’t see any scenario in which I can jump off of really tall purple houses and float like a little butterfly to the ground. I feel like I could make my part of the dream come true, but gravity might not comply willingly. That was a real dream, by the way, it’s stuck in my head forever, I guess. I dreamed I could jump off the purple house with no problems but when I got to the green house I couldn’t even get in the door. You know what that means? It means I’m never painting my house purple or green because I don’t want to end up crippled from leaping off my roof.

Dreamers of world, please, for the love of everything lucid, do not make your dreams come true. The rest of us are not emotionally prepared to watch you dash about in your souped-up Fred Flintstone car with Benedict Cumberbatch in drag. (Actually, I’m down for that one. Do it.) Let’s keep our talking fish and Mike Tyson geese wrangling to ourselves, OK?

Until next time, keep your head and dream on. (Here’s some Molly Hatchet to lull you to sleep.)