Dream On

About three weeks ago I picked up a cold; a nasty one as it turned out. I am still dealing with some residual effects. I figured at first it was the evil Covid. I self tested a couple of times and the test stick said, no, it was not Covid. As I had no experience with Covid, I didn't believe the sticks. But I still did not go to the doctor. I did the guy thing, the idiot thing, and put on my faux tough guy suit and waited it out.

After two weeks of misery, I slowly began to shed the worse symptoms and reassured myself that I was probably going to survive. I realized this was the first respiratory illness I have had since I quit smoking over four years ago. It was a much different experience than the colds I suffered through in my smoke em if you got em past. I felt healthier throughout the run of the cold. With the exception of that maddening period when my body wanted to cough the most when I was asleep, I came through just fine. I believe that being smoke free for four years may have prevented this cold from becoming a life threatening event, what with me now living life as an old fart.

It is my loss of sleep that segue's awkwardly into what I really want to write about.

Dreams.

While I was suffering the all night cough fests, the cycle of twenty minutes of semi comatose restlessness followed by five minutes of coughing stopped the dreaming. At least I stopped remembering any dream that might have visited while all my focus was on trying to not let the coughing send me screaming out into the dark of night.

Then last week, say Friday maybe, I finally had five hours of uninterrupted sleep. The dreams came back with a vengeance. I still did not remember them, but I knew I was dreaming. I would wake up trying my best to nail down the fantastic tale I had just spun for myself. The following nights when I was once again loving life with five hours of sleep per night, I began to remember bits and pieces of my dreams and they were disturbing.

Two mornings ago I awoke at my now usual 3:00 AM. I did not need to fish for a dream memory. The first thing I remember once I sat up was, I had just run over some guy while driving a huge SUV. I not only ran him over, but as I did it, I told myself  he deserved it. His face and why he deserved it was lost in the vague jibber jabber that is part of every dream I have. I was just sure he deserved it. And yes, I remember stepping out of the huge SUV, looking at his dead body and smiling with some satisfaction like a chapter had closed or a tale had run its course.

I was disturbed by this dream fragment. I do not remember ever having a dream where I enjoyed hurting someone. Seriously, this dream stressed me out until at least the second cup of coffee that morning.

Then 45 minutes ago when I awoke at 3:30 AM, I was again having no trouble remembering a dream fragment. ........ a disturbing dream fragment.

The setting for this dream sequence was outside among grass covered hills. The wind cycled up and down moving the grass in gentle green waves as it often does out among the tall grasses. I was in a shack located in a large grass depression with  people lining its perimeter. I was handed a big ass sword like the Templar Knights swung back in the day. Then unceremoniously I was shoved out of the shack. I could barely pick the damn sword up, it was so heavy. I looked around the grass clad arena lined with screaming fans rooting for a hero who was not me. They were not calling my name. The name they hollered was unintelligible. It only took me a second to realize I was the asshole everyone wanted dead.

I felt totally lost. But I was here and obviously here to get into a sword fight. I looked out and around this basin lined with characters from a Mad Max movie. On the other side there was another shack similar to the one I had been so rudely ejected from. I did not need to be told, but this is where my opponent must be. 

I was not wrong. The door opened and out stepped a largish fellow, maybe ten feet tall and looking like an apocryphal badass. In his hands was not a sword. He was armed with an AR15 type weapon. It looked like a toy in his massive mitts. The last thing I remembered after he shot me in the chest from fifty feet away was how unfair this was. 

So I sit in front of the computer screen typing away less than an hour after being shot in my dream. I do not remember ever being seriously harmed in a dream. Every dream it seems, I come out of it with nary a scratch. I also do not remember ever purposefully hurting anyone in my dreams; Fighting sure, but never any real damage done to anyone. 

I wonder if my increased levels of anxiety is because of the last five years of world wide turmoil that has shaken the reality I thought I lived in. Did the last decade finally rattle my perception that I had control over my destiny. And now do my dreams reflect this dark foreboding that has crept into my soul?

So, I may be wrong with my half assed analysis here, but one thing I know. Life is not fair out here in Reality. And so it seems Life is not fair in my dreams either.

Keep it 'tween the ditches ..............................

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Could not decide on music so I picked three tunes for this post.

• "Mr Sandman" - The Chordettes. I loved this tune when I was eight. Still do.
• "Dreams" - Cranberries - I have always liked Dolores' voice.
• "Dream On" - Aerosmith - Never was a huge fan of these guys, but I do like this song.