I don’t mean to brag, but the other day, I read an article in Scientific American magazine.
In the magazine, it had a story about something scientific which I didn’t understand, so I did what I usually do when I am not interested in the magazine sitting on my lap in the doctor’s office – I pretended I was reading it while I looked around and wondered what was wrong with the other people in the waiting room.
Just as I had concluded the man sitting next to me had scurvy, I glanced down at the magazine and something caught my eye – “dream journal.”
According to what I could comprehend from the story, a doctor somewhere had prescribed a patient record his dreams in a journal. Why? To determine if he was nuts, probably (I didn’t get that far.)
I decided this was something I should do. Why? To determine if I am nuts?
No, silly reader. We all know the answer to that already (No, technically, according to the State of Georgia). The reason I wanted to do it is simple: As an excuse to do more sleeping.
So, that evening, I put my trusty reporter’s notebook next to my bedside with the notion that I would awake at every dream, record what happened, then review it in the morning with a hot cup of coffee. Here is a synopsis of my night-by-night dream journal for the last five nights.
• Night 1: Never woke up. Apparently, after I fell asleep, I forgot to wake up to record my dreams. I had no recall of any dreams I had.
• Night 2: Nothing again. I decided to set my alarm the next night on all three of its settings, waking me up every three
hours.
• Night 3: Finally, a dream. The first alarm woke me up and I remembered what I was dreaming about.
Here’s what I wrote in my journal: “Water skiing with my family in what appears to be Switzerland. My third-grade class from elementary school is also in water with us. Guy driving the boat is that dad from “Gimme a Break.”
“The water is cold and all these eels are in the water. One of the eels rubs against me, and me and everyone else simultaneously start swimming for shore.”
Then I woke up and wrote it down. Then I went back to sleep. Then the second alarm went off. Then I threw the alarm clock against the wall, smashing it into a thousand pieces.
• Night 4: Without a functioning alarm clock, I resorted to winging it, with positive results.
From my dream journal: “Had a dream. In a jungle. With the cast of the movie “Predator,” except it was a musical. Carl Weathers is a surprisingly good singer.”
My second entry of the night: “A nightmare. A man who smelled like pickles was chasing me around the streets of Manhattan (New York, not Kansas). I couldn’t get away from him. Taxis are no help. Muppets are involved. Woke up before he caught me.”
Third entry: “I’m in a presidential debate. I’m not dressed properly (wearing a sweatshirt, khakis and a baseball cap). Totally unprepared.
“My fellow candidates are Donald Trump, Mitt Romney, the police chief from “Stranger Things,” and my eighth-grade Math teacher, Mrs. Harris. Chuck Woolery is the moderator. Right before I’m about to have to answer a question about the Middle East, I wake up.”
• Night 5: Only one entry: “I dreamed that I heard some noises downstairs of someone breaking in the house. It is the cast of “Predator,” coming to murder me. Instead of going downstairs to check on it, or defend myself, I just go back to sleep.”
For the record, recording a dream journal is not a good excuse for more sleeping. In practice, it’s much too tiring – even in my dreams.
• Len Robbins is the editor of The Clinch County News. He can be reached at lrobbins@clinchcounty news
