The real nightmare of dreams

Dreams might be very much part of our nightly lives, but I believe that one should not read too much into them.

Let’s be honest, if the Lotto numbers were revealed to us in our dreams, we’d all be living la dolce vita.

I’m also not convinced that deities reveal the future to us while we sleep, warning us about imminent natural disasters or other calamities while offering us a chance to avoid them through our future actions. That’s just too sci-fi for me.

I also reckon one’s dreams do not necessarily reflect some subconscious desire or fear.

For me, my dreams – ranging from crazy absurd to bizarrely scary – are like free movies in which I play the lead role. And boy, am I a good actor!

But what I have learnt in the last week or two is that it’s best to keep your dreams to yourself.

Sharing your dreams with loved ones could lead to a fate worse than eternal damnation.

For reasons unknown to me, I have been going through quite a prolific spell of nocturnal visions in the early hours of the morning.

While some of them have been quite pleasant, the majority have been of the nightmare kind. And it’s those dreams that one should be especially quiet about.

For me it was sweet relief when I woke up the other morning, soaked in sweat and tears, to discover that my wife is not really pregnant. That I would not be called upon to change diapers and warm bottles. That she would not be binge-eating grapes for six months. That it was all just a dream.

Having escaped back to reality, I just had to share the good news with her immediately.

But she was not impressed, waking up with me jumping on the bed, sharing the good tidings with her.

“So, a pregnant me is a nightmare?” she accused.

Then it dawned on me. “False alarm,” I said. “In my dream I wasn’t married to you.”

Good thing our dog has such a big basket. It’s quite comfy.

But now I wonder: do dogs also dream?

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