I was going to go without an image, but here is a hybrid Shaun the sheep for illustrative purposes.
A few days ago our kid woke up from a nightmare where a squirrel bit my wife’s face and we couldn’t help her. I’m sure it was real gruesome. Squirrels are beasts. If mail carriers didn’t exist, those rodents would be our dog’s arch nemeses. (That means, until the mail is stopped due to covid-19, you’re still on the hook, Marlon the Mailman.) My wife took notes and went to the internet to decipher what the squirrel dream may have meant. As she processed the information, I came to the realization that I can no longer recall my own dreams. For real.
I used to have vivid dreams. When I was about my daughter’s age, I had a dream about attending Space Camp. (At one time, I think a trip to Space Camp was a grand prize for completing the obstacle course on the television show Double Dare.) That dream was AWESOME. I escaped earth’s gravitational pull aboard a space shuttle and even went for an emergency space walk to fix an invaluable scientific instrument. It felt so real that as soon as I awoke, I wrote the whole thing down so I wouldn’t forget. Then I threw that piece of paper in the trash because I felt so embarrassed about it. Who writes down their dreams and takes notes like that? I’m not a weirdo.
In my initial post, I mentioned drifting in and out of reality at the time of the accident. I didn’t share the dreams that accompanied the immediate aftermath, but I had truly bizarre Kafkaesque imagery happening in my brain. Here are some in no particular order:
I’m on a football field. (I’ve never played football except in grade school before school and at recess. Two-hand touch. A first down was achieved by two forward passes in a set of downs.) In this dream the coach is firing up the team and I’m on board. I’m ready to run through a wall to win the big game! Next thing I know, someone is using a stapler to attach a gladiator-like chest plate to my torso. Testosterone!
The accident occurred January 14, so the NFL was in the midst of the playoffs. Also, I woke to a lot of staple holes all over my body from when they were piecing me back together after the surgeries. We even kept some of the staples and they are now adhered to some scrapbook pages. Want to see them?
My wife and I are in the desert. There’s no color. Only black and white. It’s much like an episode of The Twilight Zone. We happen upon a town. It’s empty. As we approach the buildings, I begin to realize that something is off. As I get closer, I observe that the buildings are one-sided structures that are supported by 2x4s, like on the set of an old movie or high school play. A fake facade. A car salesman appears and asks if we are ready to sign the papers for the new car. Why are we buying a car? Ours is nearly brand-new. What’s wrong with ours?
In the real world, the car, which happens to be white, is nearly paid off with barely any mileage. My brain telling me we need a car now because our’s is toast, but that can’t really be true, or can it?
Now, I find myself in a diner. As I squint my eyes looking out the dingy, dust-covered window blinds, I can tell that it is winter outside. The ground is covered in snow and the sky is a dark blue. The sun has already set. I’m sitting at a table with my siblings. There’s a toy train that goes around a track which lines the wall inside the restaurant near the ceiling. No one says a word.
It was winter outside. I like trains. We still don’t say much to each other as a family.
“Do you believe in God?” a voice asks me.
“What?” I answer.
I can’t see anything. It’s not dark or light. It’s a void. I don’t know where the voice is coming from.
“I said, do you believe in God?” the voice repeats.
Without hesitation I say, “no, not your God.”
Yeah, I don’t believe in a deity with a staff wearing a flowing robe looking all Gandalf, sitting upon a throne at the controls pushing buttons and pulling levers as alarms sound and lights flash. A power, yes, but, no, not in our likeness. That's not to say I don't find solace in attending church either, because I do at times. I just have a complicated relationship with religion.
I’m sure I’ve had dreams since the hospital, but I can’t recall any of them. It probably has to do with the traumatic brain injury. Except for events that transpired during the accident, my long term memory is intact, but my short term leaves something to be desired. For instance, I often find myself watching television and I’ll fall into a trance and realize I have no clue what I’ve been watching for the past hour. However, impactful events remain, such as getting married, our daughter’s birth, friendships, etc.
Dreams, for me, are my mind’s free creative entertainment that I never see coming and I’m afraid I never will again. How do I pursue a dream if I never have anymore? Perhaps I am now a replicant. Until next time, stay away from other humans like it is a real game of life and death.
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