DREAM ON, DREAM OFF
My own mind continues to confuse and bore me.

Here are how some of the more recent dreams have gone:

I am in my living room, the sun is shining through the window. The phone for some reason is white, and kind of old school; it even has a cord. Maybe I am already on the phone, maybe it has just rung. Perhaps I have made the phone call. The voice on the other end is the New York Times.

BRADY: I'd like to speak with you about the subscription rates you quoted me.

NYT: Yes. 60% off the regular price for new subscription service, which will be good for the next eleven months.

BRADY: See, the thing is, I just got a subscription three weeks ago, and it was only 30% off the regular price. I would like to get the 60% off.

NYT: Well, sir, this rate is for new subscriptions only.

BRADY: But I just joined. Three weeks ago. I am a new customer.

NYT: But you already have a subscription. This is for new subscriptions.

BRADY: Yes, I realize that. I realize that. But I am a customer, and you approached me with this deal, so why should I not be able to take it? Aren't you supposed to keep the customer satisfied?

It occurs to me, now, in consciousness, that perhaps I was listening to a Simon and Garfunkel album as I went to sleep.

NYT: Yes, sir, but this rate is for new subscriptions only. Tell you what I can do: I will give you 53% off for the next six months.

BRADY: You're telling me that I might as well cancel my current subscription and then immediately renew it and get the better price? I mean, this is ridiculous.

NYT: I can't do that. It's different numbers. How about this: 45% off for 9 months, plus a free catcher's mitt.

BRADY: No! I want the full rate reduction!

NYT: You can take it or leave it.

BRADY: 55% for ten months, and a free fireman's hat.

NYT: Done.

I wake up, feeling slightly uneasy, as though I got a raw deal. The saddest thing is, I don't even have a subscription to the New York Times. Also, I am not known to fight fires. Truth be told, they kind of enthrall me….

The next dream begins excitingly enough:

I am flying a jet. A friend, whom I cannot place, is flying a helicopter. We are over a city that one would presume is New York City, or, perhaps, Detroit, where I've never been. After a number of flying activities, his chopper has problems and he is forced to bail out as his chopper crashes into the heart of the city. I land my plane and rush to the scene. The guy in charge of archives at my work (whom I shall call Carl) is there. He tends towards anal and freaky.

BRADY: Is he all right? We need to secure the area!

CARL: Yeah, he's fine, but this is quite the mess. Quite the mess.

I start to secure the scene, which seems to involve shuffling papers, stacking picture frames, and measuring various distances with a tape measure. I put the tape measure on the corner of a box as I attend to something else.

CARL: Is that my tape measure?

BRADY: No, it's mine.

CARL: I think this is mine. Someone took mine. This looks like mine.

A sudden panic attack makes me think that maybe it is his tape measure. No. I must remain firm. This is my tape measure. I distinctly remember taking it from Fred and never giving it back.

BRADY: It is my tape measure. What's your problem?

CARL: I have the same tape measure. This has to be my tape measure.

I wake up, annoyed. Didn't this dream begin with me in a jet? I dig out my tape measure. Where the hell did I get this tape measure, anyway? I don't even know anyone named Fred. Does anyone?

The next dream involves a couple of people from work. One is the head of the entire place (I will call Harry), the other is my co-worker (let's call him Jon, as his real name is Jonathan). There are at my work place a number of unofficial rules that are to be followed, and I am regularly breaking them, mostly out of ignorance of what is unwritten, but sometimes out of general rebellion. In this dream, though, my role is as observer more than anything. Jon and I are sitting around, and Harry enters:

HARRY: I thought I told you guys that suede is not allowed here.

Jon and I look around, confused. It is possible that we are all wearing suede pants, including Harry. The guy who is always in the bathroom at the same time I am is undoubtedly wearing suede shoes. I look to Harry.

BRADY: What's that, Henry?

HARRY: No suede allowed. You can't wear suede.

JON: We're not wearing any suede.

HARRY: Yes, you are. That hat is suede.

I look at Jon. He is suddenly wearing a hat. It looks like a normal wool hat, except that it is made of tan corduroy.

JON: This isn't suede, Henry.

HARRY: Yes it is, Jon.

JON: No, it's not.

HARRY: It is. That's suede.

BRADY: It's not suede.

JON: It's corduroy.

HARRY: Corduroy is in the suede family.

JON: What? No it's not.

HARRY: Yes it is. Look, don't wear it any more.

I wake up confused and a bit unhappy. I am pretty certain that corduroy is not suede, but what really gets me is that I was just sitting there in that dream, doing nothing. I wasn't even wearing the hat. And why was Jon wearing a hat? Our office is always overheated to begin with, to say nothing of rude it would be to wear a hat at work.

So these are the dreams I've been having. They have been increasing in frequency over the years, though I didn't really begin to worry about them until two friends, Murray and Scotti, told me about their boring dreams. As they are sisters, I figured it was genetic that they would dream, "I was putting on socks. One was black, and then I noticed the other was navy blue!" type dreams that would cripple them with laughter. Is this my fate? Will the mundane amuse me to the point of hysterics?

I hope not. The problem is, I am not finding the balance I expected. If my dreams are so boring, should my real life not be filled with wild adventure? Why am I not riding dragons to work or tunneling to the center of the earth? What's wrong with me? The line between dreams and reality is becoming increasingly vague. I will remember (or forget) whole conversations or experiences I have in my everyday life, and later on, I am unsure of what was dreamt and what honestly transpired. Gone are the dreams of soft, crumbly teeth, airplane crashes, losing the ability to run, or the gaining the sudden ability of karate or flight: dreams that were clearly dreams that contrasted my regular life. Am I missing out? Has my life become such that I have eliminated the possibility of imagination? Are any of you riding dragons to work? Maybe that's my problem -- work is only a twenty minute walk, which would make for a very short and rather boring dragon ride. Anyway, it's not like I'm going to get up earlier to take advantage of it; I'd rather sleep.