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Do people really have dreams that they wish would come true? There are even songs written about dreams, in just those terms, as if you see a perfect world in your sleep.
That’s not the way it is with me. I don’t remember many dreams, but when I do, it isn’t ever anything I hope for. It’s almost always something I dread, either an alternative version of something that’s happened, gone way wrong, or a projected future reality that reflects my fears and anxieties.
Whether or not I remember what I’ve been dreaming about, I never wake up from a dream and wish I could go back into that dream world. I never want to relive whatever I’ve been going through. Somehow in my dreams I’ve always screwed something up, and someone has found me out and exposed me for the fraud that I know I am. Who needs to be reminded of that by his subconscious?
When I was a child, my dreams were usually heightened versions of what was happening to me — at home, in school or on the playground. The bullies were just a little meaner and more ruthless than they were in real life. The embarrassment was a bit more vivid. Voices were louder and wounds were deeper. I don’t know when I stopped having these childhood dreams, but they stayed with me. That’s probably why I repress the dreams I have now.
Last night I kept waking up with this sense of unease and foreboding. Just the very edge of the dream state had enough weight to seep into my waking memory. By the time I rolled over, it was gone. That’s one reason I never write about dreams here. You know the other reason.
So I’ve never dreamed of hitting the winning home run in the World Series, or flying to the moon, or falling in love. I dream about being locked out of the house, or getting shut up in a dark room, or falling into a deep hole. And those are only the ones I remember. | 
