Dreams are boring.
Every so often my sweetie has a particularly lucid dream and tries, over breakfast, to share it with me.
It generally goes something like this: “I’m walking through a large, empty house. There are doors everywhere, but none of them open. The rooms are big. It’s quiet. I get the feeling someone’s chasing me, but I can’t see his face.”
And so on.
I rarely tell Lori about my dreams because so many of them involve Swedish stewardesses and unsavory situations. I’ll forego the details; suffice it to say if I were to relate these dreams to Lori, she would never stop slapping me.
Last night, though, I was the one dreaming of a big old, gothic mansion. I wandered from room to room until I happened upon the basement steps. It was dark down there, but I moved relentlessly ahead anyway. I heard movement. In a particularly murky corner I could just make out the contours of a large animal.
It was a hog, a big one, the granddaddy of all 4-H Fair winners, charcoal grey, with bright, red eyes.
I woke up, scared witless and vowing to never again read Stephen King before bedtime.
As dreams go, it was fairly interesting. But even so, boring to hear about later.
It makes me think Sigmund Freud, the father of modern psychiatry, must have been a patient man. He was into dreams big-time; thought they meant something, particularly those involving cigars or snakes.
Most modern psychiatrists agree Freud had a dirty mind.
I’ll bet he’d love hearing about my Swedish stewardess dreams. I’m not sure I’d want him to “interpret” them for me, though. I already know what they mean and the fewer other people who figure that out the better.
Personally, I think dreams are just our conscious minds performing a little after-hours housekeeping while we sleep. I doubt there’s much meaning to any of them other than what seems obvious upon waking.
According to the one website I checked (which is all the research I’m willing to put into one of these columns), dreaming of pigs indicates an impending uptick in your financial standing. In other words, if Freud was right, I’m gonna be rich!
That would be nice. But honestly, given the choice between dreaming of the scary hog or the plane full of stewardesses … let’s just say money’s not that important to me.
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