Dream Journal

Zulieka has been sharing her dreams.

I imagine everyone dreams somewhat differently, and that many of us go through phases of more or less dream activity, more or less recalled, and so on. Historically, I dream vividly, surreally, raucously, as though my dreams were directed by Fellini. In the last year, however, something changed, and now I dream about dull things, things I have to do, repairs, clean-ups, bows around my finger as it were.

This makes my nights far more dull than they used to be, but it has the odd effect of confounding my days. The things I dream are so photorealistic, so true to life, that sometimes I confuse having performed some errand in my dream with having performed it in the waking world.

As though I hadn't enough problems keeping up with my obligations. As though I needed anything to make me more flighty. As though I asked to be relieved of my storybook romps and nightmares, from both of which I invariably would wake refreshed, excited, thrilled to be back on messy Earth in my rumpled bed swimming my imperfect skin. I have lost this at what cost?

Zulieka's dreams make me nostalgic and I am grateful. I'll take someone else's Freudian in-jokes over all real life all the time, vicarious Fellini over no Fellini at all.