Why Dreams Don’t Come True

In Greek mythology, Sleep and Death are twins. All I can say is, I hope not.

When I sleep I have dreams. I’d like to say “weird dreams,” but all dreams are weird. They’re nothing like the dreams we see in movies or read about in books. They never point the way, answer questions, tell me who the real killer is.

Instead I dream of going out on stage after missing rehearsal the last month, completely unsure of my lines. Someone gives me a script and I cram desperately, but the curtain goes up and there I am.

Or I am on a strange street and an old girlfriend turns, smiles at me, then disappears. I spend the rest of the dream trying to catch up to her.

Or I am given a strange contraption and told to use it to get rid of a nasty monster coming my way. Not sure why the nasty monster always sounds like my second wife.

So I laugh when I hear “All your dreams will come true.” No thanks, buddy. I don’t want to be swimming in an oil-slicked harbor with giant ships bearing down on me and nary a rowboat in sight.

I don’t want to be stuck in a classroom as an adult with all my school-age friends staring at me as if I was a creature from the black lagoon.

Of course, they’re all not that bad.

Every once in a while, I will dream of a sweet beautiful girl who is kissing me and caressing me and telling me lovely things as we lay in the grass. I wouldn’t mind that dream coming true.

Except usually the next moment there’s a giant dinosaur coming at us. And she sounds like my second wife, who’s pissed that I’m with the beautiful girl.

Sigh.