Just A Dreamer

I don’t tend to be a dreamy kind of person. I feel I’m a bit too pragmatic and stuck in reality for that. This has it’s advantages but I think broadly I am not as imaginative as I would like to be.

I don’t also have dreams while I sleep all that often. I never have. Even when I was younger. I tend to sleep pretty much uninterrupted on most evenings.

But last night didn’t quite follow this pattern. In fact, it was so far off it I’m amazed that my brain was actually able to invent such bizarre happenings. I think there were three distinctive dreams, one of which was so familiar to me that I am sure I’ve had the dream in the past.

I was milling around in what seemed to be an old covered market. There is one back in the place where I live permanently, but it’s not something I’ve been to for many many years. I don’t remember precisely what I was there for, but I know I was looking for something. It might have been clothes, but I know for sure that they weren’t for me. In fact, I think I was looking for clothes for boys. No idea why. That’s just come back to me.

I was struggling to find anything. In my desperation I followed a path which didn’t look the most appealing (cliched or what?) and sure enough it ended up in a fairly narrow corridor, and a flight of spiralling steps up at the end of it. I followed them, clearly not noticing that there were no shops.

I arrived at the top of the stairs to an area where there were lots of people all talking. They all seemed to be dressed in somewhat Victorian looking clothes. I hadn’t gone back in time though, because ahead of me was an escalator. I asked where the shops were, and I was told the escalator was the place to go. So I did.

Up and up, until I reached the top. Though it wasn’t the top. The escalator simply ran into another one, but it was running at 90 degrees to the existing one. Plus, I would have had to jump over the rail where my escalator was meeting the other one at the side. If I didn’t, I would just carry on going until I fell through the bottom of the first escalator.

Not fancying the jump, and valuing my life more than whatever it was I was looking for (since the drop from the first escalator was immense) I turned round and walked back down.

At the bottom the crowd of people were a bit mystified when I told them what had happened. They had never encountered any problems getting to the top. I never asked if that meant they found it easy to jump or whether I had just personally been encountered with an unusual combination of escalators. I gave up and walked outside.

I think this dream ended there, because I woke up about 6:00am. I fell back asleep almost immediately and a new dream started. This time I was walking along the shore of what seemed to be a very big lake. I felt like I was in a park, though I’m not sure about that. I was wearing fairly formal clothes, unusual for me. I had a pristine white shirt on and black trousers. No idea where I was walking to, but I felt fairly happy.

Up from nowhere pops this fairly small but rather fat boy, maybe about eight years old. He looks devious and mischievous… and is clearly planning something involving me. I carry on walking, trying to ignore him.

Splat. I get a great big lump of mud thrown at me. And then again. My once white shirt was destroyed. I got so angry that I picked the fat kid up and, holding onto his hands, drop him gently into the lake.

I can see his face underwater, and I think “he looks like he’s enjoying this”. I decide to punish him by letting go of his hands. Sure enough his face changes to utter fear, and I seem quite satisfied that I’ve successfully scared the shit out of him, and so reach back in to grab his hands to bring him back out. I’ve obviously decided that I’d “punished” him enough.

He deliberately floats backwards, but his face of terror turns to a face of glee. Perhaps he spots that I’m now the one who’s terrified. Is he doing it deliberately? He’d been under the water for a while now, and I was beginning to think I’d killed him, and the boy was delighted at the grief he was putting me through.

Then he just emerges from the water and swims to the shore, climbing out, and there’s nothing wrong with him.

I talk to him and ask him why he threw mud at my shirt. Now that he was clearly OK I didn’t seem concerned that I’d nearly killed him. Or maybe I realised he’d done it deliberately to scare me. The boy started talking to me, and all of a sudden we’re talking like best friends as if none of it had happened. The dream ended there.

I woke up again, this time at 7:00am. I wanted to go back to sleep but struggled for a long time as my brain tried to work out what was going on. Then into my head popped the thoughts of my exam tomorrow, as I started to revise one of the topics on the Portuguese parliament.

Sure enough the boredom from this made me fall back asleep. Then I had a third dream, in which my nine year old nephew berated me incessantly for not recycling my plastics. That was it. Even though I do recycle plastics. I woke up just before the alarm clock… and my thoughts then turned to revision once more.

Three dreams, all of them stupid, all of them pointless, all of them annoying. They must mean something because the sub-conscious mind is powerful like that. Having thought long and hard about it, here are the lessons I think it’s trying to tell me:

– Beware of escalators
– Beware of fat boys, aged about eight years old
– Recycle your plastics

I thank you.

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