So I have this one writing professor who initially comes across as very folksy and Southern and conservative, but who is always making these really wry and sometimes biting observations that are all the more amazing because she is making them.
One of my favorites occurred during a recent discussion about the role dream-life plays in our writing, when she started going off about how no one is really ever interested in other people’s dreams. “I mean, when someone starts a sentence with ‘I had this dream last night,'” she said, “who in the world does not glaze over and completely tune out?”
The comment sent me into immediate hysterics: I thought I had never heard anything so true. The fact is that other people’s dreams are very rarely interesting. And yet they can also be so affecting, and sometimes disturbing, that we just cannot help talking about them. Especially if, like me, you frequently dream about having relationships with random celebrities (Matthew McConaughey was my boyfriend last Wednesday night and a couple of months ago Scarlett Johannsen made me make out with her; it was terrible.)
Anyway, this is all to say that I know you don’t really care about my dreams. But I woke up with such a jolt this morning that I just had to raise the issue.
Part of the reason I woke up with a jolt is that I managed to completely sleep through my alarm/yoga class and was in one of those half-waking states for a while in which I felt pretty sure I had overslept but was not committed enough to the idea to actually open my eyes and check the time. The other reason, however, was the realization that a person had again appeared in my dream–vaguely romantically–about whom I basically never think in my conscious life.