I rarely dream. I remember my dreams about once a month – either when I’m absolutely exhausted or I’m on migraine painkillers. And it’s a guarantee that in either case, the dream will be absurd.
Absurd in that it will probably make sense. My dreams usually have a narrative of some sort, a beginning-middle-end, a cause-and-effect, an if-then. One night I actually dreamed in the form of a short story. It had metaphorical imagery, allegory, all kinds of layers; it was great. (I am still trying to suitably write it as a short story, which is difficult in its lack of dialogue. It may never happen.)
But last night’s dream takes the cake, I think. I dreamed about someone I know, as I usually do. And there was a definite narrative, and the context was plausible. But the best part came toward the end of the dream. The person I know had physically left the narrative (but was still a factor in what I was doing), and I was walking around a dock, or a seaport of some kind. I was overlooking a canal, on a concrete walkway with railings and stairways and benches. I saw these strange-looking creatures. They were about the size of small dogs, and they were on leashes. But they were ugly, smooth, blob-like, grey and really fat. Little beady black eyes, short stubby legs. I thought about it for a second. And then I realized what they were.
That’s right. My subconscious mind came up with a visual pun. Which I solved. In my dream.
My brain is ridiculous.