Sweet Dreams Are Made Of These

Do any of you put any stock in dreams? I'm not much of a dreamer. In fact, it's rather rare for me to dream. Well, according to some research I once read, we all dream constantly in our sleep--it's only the ones that are going on when we wake up that we remember. Regardless of the science behind it, I kind of like not having dreams invade my sleep. Most of my dreams fall into two types: strange dreams involving me running from various adversaries or strange dreams where I spend the whole time complaining about the logic of said dream. I kid not!

In the former type of dreams, my pursuers have included my mom, axe murderers, aliens, Robert Mitchum as The Preacher in The Night of the Hunter, angry pigs, and Nazis. The dream featuring the Nazis was set in WWII-era Holland. I know because I asked someone else who was running away from the Nazis with me. I shouted at him "Where are we?" which was a stupid question. I mean, come on, most normal people, when being chased by unknown assailants, want to know who is chasing them. Not me. I wanted to know where I was. The guy's exact answer was "World War II-era Holland." He may have lied to me, though. He soon disappeared, and I was trapped not long after. I think Mr. World War II-era Holland may have sold me out. In fact, I seriously doubt we were even in Holland. . . .

The latter type of dream usually has me seeing something impossible take place, such as people flying without wings, and me arguing, "But that can't happen! This has to be a dream!" while everybody ignores my protests. Apparently, I'm an obnoxious skeptic even in my sleep.

As much as I dislike dreaming, I have become comfortable with my routine dreams. If I start running in a dream or whining about logical fallacies, I feel safe because it's, well, normal. Thus, you can see why I was so startled by a dream that I had a couple of nights ago--a dream that I still haven't quite recovered from.

This summer I had my wisdom teeth removed. Overall, the experience wasn't too awful, though I wouldn't exactly jump up and volunteer to do it again. I had my teeth pulled in two different phases, about three to four weeks apart, and each time I spent a few days gumming pudding before I was back to normal. Though I physically got back to normal within a week each time and I've been wisdom tooth free for at least three weeks, I can't quite shake the fear that my remaining teeth are loose. I know, I know--My teeth are not loose. The dentist never mentioned anything about it when my teeth were examined afterwards. I can even think up a couple of psychologically-based theories that would make Freud proud concerning why I think my teeth are loose. Nevertheless, just because I can rationalize why my teeth are not loose does not mean they don't feel loose. Just because I'm paranoid doesn't mean people are not following me!

This fear has just been a slight little paranoia for the past several weeks, but a couple of nights ago it became a very scary reality. On the day in question, I had stayed up until the wee hours of the morning reading about Jack the Ripper. (Long story.) I figured I'd have nightmares about ol' Jack, presumably involving my being chased by him and my shouting, "Hey! We're not running through the East End! This setting is all wrong! This must be a dream" in the process. Alas, if only I had dreamed that.

Instead, that night I dreamed I was in a peaceful meadow. It was sunny and lovely and all that jazz. I was sitting there, admiring the meadowy view when I suddenly felt like something was in my mouth. Perplexed, I tried spitting whatever it was out--to no avail. After several more aborted attempts to get whatever it was out, I finally reached my hand in there to remove the offending item. I proceeded to then yank out an entire string of my teeth. Yes, my dream set of teeth are on a string. They're also large, mis-shapen, and unevenly spaced from each other. They look like hideous hillbilly teeth beads. I was so horrified that I could not resist reaching into my mouth and pulling out another string of teeth. If I had been in my normal dream state of mind, I would have got up and ran from the teeth or at least shouted, "Hey! There's no way that that many teeth fit in my head" or "Hey, my teeth look nothing like that!" Alas, no such return to normalcy awaited me. Instead, I pulled out more strings of teeth and stared dumbfoundeded at my teeth until my alarm clock blared. I awoke frantically clawing at my face. I couldn't calm down until I had ascertained that a) my teeth were in my head and b) my teeth were, for the moment, not loose.

Oh, for the days when I dreamed of running away and yelling at my dreams. It seems that they have risen up in revolt. And what brutal opponents they make. . . .