Yesterday morning I woke at 6am to the sound of our resident air raid siren, otherwise known as “Little Miss Five”.
After listening for a few moments to her insane babble intended to wake her sisters, I fell back into a deep sleep, and embarked on several hours of adventure that (in reality) took only minutes.
How does your brain do that? I cannot read faster than I might speak, but in a few minutes of sleep my brain can come up with all manner of intricate and nonsensical stories.
Why is it that we never question the events of a dream while it is going on?
As I finally woke at 7:15 (and realised I had to scrape my sorry ass out of bed in order to make breakfasts, lunches, and get out of the house in time to make the school run), I remembered the last few moments of my dream. I still remember them.
I was in the playpark behind the house I grew up, collecting my teenage son (who I don’t have), who was dressed in a bizarre “New Romantic meets Street Fighter meets Nazi” trench coat replete with medals and epaulettes. There was some kind of altercation occuring, and I extracated my son by the most ingenious of method;
“Lets go home and get a drink”.
I shudder to imagine what on earth is going on in my head most of the time. I suspect I’m only using a small part of it’s true processing power - the rest seems to be devoted to constructing towering piles of ridiculous garbage.