I remember, back in the early days of blogging, back when my first computer was powered by a little steam engine, that bloggers often wrote about what they had dreamed.
I sometimes did.
Then that got old.
Also, it turned out that I might have interesting dreams, but they rarely are still there when I wake up.
A couple nights ago I had a vivid nightmare that someone had bought the wrong breakfast cereal.
It was just an image and an emotion. The image was this box of muesli. It looked wrong. There were too many puffs in it, for example. I do not like my muesli with puffs, or with chocolate. At the moment, it is hard to get muesli in Austria without puffs or chocolate, that may have been the source of the dream.
Or it may not. Who knows with dreams?
Anyway, in the dream, I removed the clear plastic liner from the box, with all the cereal in it, and double checked. But it was clearly full of puffs.
Someone had bought the wrong muesli.
I was filled with profound disappointment.
Then I woke up, as one sometimes does with nightmares, still saturated with the emotion.
Wow, I thought, that was some nightmare.
Once, I had a nightmare about a rock in a stream. A big, flat boulder about an inch under the surface, with the water flowing silently over it. At night. That one filled me with regret and guilt. Some terrible crime was buried beneath that rock.
I have never forgotten that one.
On the other hand, I once had a dream about trying to kill a guy who was absolutely impossible to kill. He kept fighting back, it was amazing. I was tussling with him in a friend’s basement while a couple friends watched television upstairs, so on top of everything else, I was trying to kill him quietly. For some reason, it was impossible to strangle him. He was about as strong as me and kept getting away. I finally stabbed him in the neck with a shard of window glass. I hit an artery, too, because the blood was squirting out real far. Unfortunately, I seemed to have only nicked the artery, because although the blood squirted out real far, it squirted in a real thin stream. It was taking forever for him to bleed to death.
In fact, he never bled to death in that dream. He just kept rassling with me.
Then I woke up, full of anger and frustration. Still, it wasn’t exactly a nightmare.
Dreams, aren’t they weird?
Where do they come from, I wonder.