Weird Dreams

I had an odd dream where I was playing with a baby on a balcony and dropped it by accident. But no one called the police because it was the baby's fault.

Those that know me also know that my dreams come very rarely, and are populated by nightmarish characters and events. Now I dream perhaps once every month - hallucinogenic drug trips that involve fire and clowns and scorpions and whatever else my subconscious desires to plague me with. It's extremely terrifying and mind-mangling.

That being said, I prefer my nightmares to good dreams. A while ago I said,

"I had a dream on Saturday night. I never dream, maybe once or twice a year. Usually nightmares. On Saturday I had a nightmare. It was terrible and I woke up sick and I felt so broken. It was real, and the moment I lingered on the threshold of dream and real, on the cusp of awakening, I felt the dream was reality. Except it was so tragic, such a sad dream I felt like throwing up when I awoke.

In spite of this, I prefer bad dreams to those good dreams, because when I linger on the edge of a dream, a bad dream helps me to return to the world I call 'real' more easily than a good dream. With a good dream, I try to fall back within the dream world where everything seems so perfect and magical and all the suffering of the world is lifted from my shoulders. But it never lasts, and when I finally awaken the world seems even bleaker and dull than usual."

When you're on that edge, between dream and reality, which way do you want to fall? Towards your perfect dream world, or your flawed reality? It doesn't matter what you decide - inexorably you're pulled towards the broken life of the awakened - and when you finally do awake, you wish you could fall back into your fake, but perfect world.

Which makes me wonder why I don't dream. Maybe I don't believe in a perfect world. Maybe I've given up on even imagining what perfection would be. Maybe I've lost all hope.

Or maybe I'm living my dream already.