Dreams

Granted, people’s dreams do not interest me. Especially when someone says “Oh my, I had the craziest dream last night! It was, like, well, in this um, well, in like a…” You don’t remember it. Surprise, surprise. However, thank you for making unintellgible chit-chat with me before my morning coffee. You make me want to kick a squirrel.



But dreams are topical things right now, since apparently the conversation-opener one-liner of choice is ‘Have you seen Inception?’ If your answer is yes, undoubtedly there will be someone in the near vicinity who hasn’t and will protest vehemently at any discussion thereof. If your answer is no, you are that person. As a conversation-starter, I believe it is the linguistic equivalent of ‘FAIL’. Conversation fail

(Spoiler Alerts)
 Lately my dreams have been scarily real to the point of worry. As in, I sometimes can’t remember whether something happened in reality, or whether it happened in a dream. Luckily, I am in no way important enough for anyone to want to try inception on me, so we can rule that out. What does concern me is why my subconscious is apparently such an awful person.


Take last night for example: After the boy found ‘missing funds’ from an illegal transaction on his account, I accused my five year old brother of stealing from him. Only when he politely told me that he had also had money stolen from his piggy bank did I consider that we had perhaps been pick-pocketed. How did I know it was a dream? I accused a FIVE YEAR OLD of internet phishing. Apparently subconscious me would accuse her own brother of stealing.


Or perhaps the dream from Monday. I stole from the elderly. At a charity event. To buy shoes.


What is wrong with me? Now if these absurdly real dreams start becoming memories, I might start thinking I’m that bad a person. Or not. I don’t know, because no-one else does either. Why is it that we can put a man on the moon but we don’t even understand how we came up with the idea in the first place?