Day Five: dreams
When I was living the student life in a house share in Sheffield I became infamous amongst my fellow housemates for my weirdo dreams, so much so that they eventually bought me a book on how to determine the meaning behind them. The only trouble with this was that my dreams were of such a high level of eccentricity that no book in existence was capable of decoding them. I began to suspect I needed professional medical help, or that these dreams were just the beginning of my decent into a madness so awesome that I would make Charles Manson seem like a really nice chap. I was also fairly suspicious of the credibility of said book’s author due to the fact that pretty much everything seemed to mean that you were suffering from some kind of sexual repression. Couldn’t it be that you were dreaming about rhino’s because you had seen one on TV the week before? Did it have to mean that you were so horny that your brain could no longer process thoughts like a normal person? I remain doubtful. On the flip side, dreaming does allow me a certain amount of liberty. If my subconscious wants to experiment with the idea that all my limbs have been replaced with ears of corn and I’m running around Tesco’s car park being chased by zombies then so be it. My imagination apparently knows no bounds. In a dreamworld anything is possible. You can be whoever you want to be, say all the things you’re too frightened to actually say, be stronger, braver, sexier, smarter. If it were to come down to a choice between more restful sleep and my amazing, vivid, bat-shit crazy dreams, I would always choose to keep them. Reality can be so boring, and little bit of insanity is a good thing, I’m sure of it.