Monday, January 3, 2011

My First Dream Of The Year

As alarm clock journalists have been reminding us lately, it's that time of the year again when we Americans tend to resolve to do better in the future than we have in the past.

Until these journalists themselves resolve to do better and stop writing the same old calendar-triggered stories, year after year, like so many Pavlovian dogs with so many typewriters (perhaps taken over from monkeys grown tired of trying to reproduce the works of Shakespeare), we will undoubtedly be reminded again and again.

Which means that *real* news at this point would consist of Americans resolving in July to do better, or November, or any other time of the year BUT January.

Or would any news flash about Aunt Maude resolving to do better in May be laughed at in such a way as to immediately expose the basic vacuity at the heart of all such stories?

No matter. However vacuous it may be, I myself have once again resolved to do better in 2011 than I did in 2010 and all the years before.

Not a whole lot better, mind you.

Just a little bit.

And the littlest bit I could think of (and thus the likeliest to actually achieve) was this:

I hereby resolve to dream more and better dreams in this new year.

And although I'm loathe to brag, I think I'm off to a pretty good start.

But don't take my word for it - consider my very first dream of 2011 for yourself.

I was standing on the sidewalk at a bus stop. Two anonymous women were with me. An old city bus was at the curb. As the three of us moved towards the bus to get on it we looked down and noticed a caterpillar on the sidewalk. Being helpful and compassionate people, we bent down and tried to relocate it to a safer place. Any caterpillar might have deserved such care and concern but this one seemed especially deserving. It was a bright spring green. And it was more oval than cylindrical. And it was rather large - maybe 2" across. Alas, it was also good at evading our helpful hands. Suddenly, however, it had decided of its own accord to get up on my right arm and then crawl up to my right shoulder. Once up there, it started purring. I not only heard it, I felt the vibrations.

I rarely dream of vibrant colors. It is even rarer for me to dream of notable sounds. I can't recall the last time I might have actually dreamt of a physical sensation such as a vibration. For all three sensory elements to appear in a single dream is quite remarkable.

Remarkable enough for it to represent a huge leap forward for me even though it seems to have lasted just a few seconds and has apparently been my one and only dream so far this year?


Well... maybe, anyway.

I promise to try harder tonight.

In fact, I might try napping continuously between now and bedtime in a determined effort not to let my one new year's resolution turn to ashes this early in the new year.

If nothing else, that should reduce my carbon footprint (which was one of last year's resolutions that I think I blew by endlessly scouring the Web for ways to reduce my carbon footprint).

Or... am I dreaming now??

*Suddenly wondering if I'm doing even better than I thought*

*Suddenly wondering if I'm nothing more than YOUR dream*


  1. The caterpillar dream seems like a pleasant one. My last remembered dream contained tornadoes and marauding wolves. Not one of my better dreams.

  2. Wow, how cool to feel vibrations and purring! The funny thing is, this reminded me of your new baby trilobite, in size and shape. And you know, you *do* have to burp a baby on your shoulder... heh! And green *is* the color of brand new growing things... well, caterpillars, anyway. I'm tempted to make a pun with the word hookah, but will refrain myself. Now I must attempt this same feat, that is, to dream, if I can actually fall asleep!

  3. The most sense-ational dream I ever had was about a girl I knew named Laurie. Laurie was five feet one and three-quarters inches tall with pale blonde hair that frizzed in the humidity and pale blonde skin of a complexion that was flawless except for tiny stretch marks atop her boobs which she probably got because of her habit of flouncing around braless everywhere she went. Laurie's nipples and other girl parts were the most exquisite shade of coral pink a man could ever hope to see. Her wet pink parts gleamed with a pearly opalescence. Even her ass hole was a pretty shade of pink.
    Don't ask me how I knew these things.
    One time when I was sleeping by myself, and apparently missing Laurie, I dreamed that I lay on top of her in my bed, with my hands holding tightly to the well-toned small of her back. I mean I was there. It gradually donned on me that I must be dreaming. I consciously wondered how such a vivid experience could possibly be a dream. I focused on the feel of her back against my hands. As the dream evaporated, my disappointment was tinged with amazement that my hands could feel the firm texture of her skin. Where could my hands REALLY in order to feel Laurie's flesh and bones clutched between them so firmly and real-ly?
    Gradually, like that experiment where psychologists turn your vision upside down with binoculars and your mind rights your vision, and then the psychologists remove the binoculars and your mind has to upend reality again, I began to feel my bed against my back. And my arms and hands? My arms were lying at rest and my hands lay relaxed next to, but not touching, my legs. Not touching anything. It was almost as shocking as the dream.
    What a disappointment. But, also, what a cure for insomnia. I almost always fall asleep right away, eager to find what waits on the flip side of my consciousness.

  4. Our sleeping brains clearly have the power to create wonderful things for us. So why don't they do so more often? Why do they so often torment us instead? I suppose if sleep were always more rewarding than real life, we'd sleep even more than we do - and perhaps sounder, too. Which is unlikely to confer much of a survival advantage on any species sharing a world with bears.

    Just one more reminder that we didn't evolve to be happy but to endure. Pity.

  5. Maybe my brain likes me more than yours likes you.
    I don't say this to be competitive. At least I don't think I do.
    I had a similar thought and expressed it to my wife-at-the-time one late night after being awakened to have yet another nightmare explained to me. The third that week, I think.
    I can't say what she thought I meant, when she asked if I'd ever had a dream like that and I responded, "I think my brain likes me better than yours likes you," but I do remember she snapped, uck-fay ou-yay at me before it seemed like she'd had time to absorb the thought. Then she was full awake and nobody got any more sleep that night. She used the two syllable form of the expression.
    I'm not sure what censorious programs might exist here. I was glad to see nobody censored my dreaming of Laurie. I always did think, "My little town" had a line about "Dreaming of Laurie," even before I met Laurie. It wasn't imagination I lacked. I lacked Google.
    I'll stop now.