Last night I had a dream that I found a pony in my closet. I decided to ride the pony, but the pony was so small that when we galloped up the stairs my knees kept bumping on the steps. It probably means I’m going to finally achieve my lifelong goal of sticking to the ceiling using nothing but some peanut butter and my tongue. Because hey, dreams can mean whatever we want as far as I’m concerned.
Take the dream about my cousin, for instance. In the dream, he was married with a baby but his wife and child fell out of his truck while he was driving across the desert. When he finally noticed that they had fallen out, he drove back and searched for them, but they were long gone. He left the desert an empty shell of a man. His wife was eaten by wolves, but his baby turned up, somewhat worse for wear, a few years later. He joyously embraced his daughter, swore he would never put her in danger again, and then took her hang-gliding. I’m pretty sure that means I’m getting a hang-gliding wolf for Christmas. Is there anyone on this planet that would not want a hang-gliding wolf? I submit that there is not.
But the kind of dreams I hate the most are nightmares. I don’t hate them because they’re scary, although I don’t appreciate my subconscious making a fool out of me. Stupid subconscious. I actually hate nightmares because when I tell people about them later, they usually laugh. Laugh! There isn’t anything funny about the boy from school turning into a monster and offering me as a sacrifice to his hideous board game god. There is nothing laughable about Indians chasing my around my house so they can kiss me with their poisoned lips. There is not one iota of humor in my aunt trying to flush me down the toilet. Those are all terrifying situations, and laughing at those is like laughing at Hocus Pocus. (What? That was a scary movie.) Sadly, I know I am not the only one who suffers, because just the other day my friend told me about a nightmare she had and I laughed until my cheeks hurt. It’s heartbreaking.
That’s why when you tell people about a nightmare you have, you should always toss in a few extras to make it seem scarier. Tell people it’s about a tall clown hiding in a shower wearing a trench coat. That’s scary. Maybe throw in some of those winged monkeys from The Wizard of Oz, too. And another Star Wars movie starring Hayden Christensen.
And now I’m probably going to have a nightmare because it’s all I’ve been talking about. Ah, well.