Because I’m a lazy ne’er-do-well, I didn’t have a smoothie for breakfast this morning: the blender languished in the sink, unwashed and unloved. I had awoken from a troublesome dream within a dream. In the dream I’d been dreaming about, I’d borrowed a policeman’s bicycle and was riding it to Dover. I dreamt that I woke up from this dream, exhausted and vaguely worried. Then my alarm went off and I woke up.
There are many depressing things about a dream like that. The policeman’s bicycle wasn’t a fun bicycle. It didn’t have 999 gears, or a blue flashing light, or anything like that, and it also lacked any of the great dialogue I associate with policemen and bicycles, after reading Flann O’Brien’s The Third Policeman. The dream was just a long trudge on an unexciting road, with only a vague feeling of foreboding to keep me company.
Worse, I suppose, was dreaming I’d woken up, and not in an exciting way (compare the waking nightmare in An American Werewolf In London if you want an example of an exciting alternative), and then having to go through all the rigmarole of waking up all over again.
Still, it’s nothing compared to a dream I had about 14 years ago, where I spent half an hour of my life deleting emails, only to have to get up, get out of bed, go all the way to the office and delete them all over again in real life, an experience which in retrospect never ceases to amaze me. How I managed to remain sane after that is a mystery never to be told.
Worst, I think, is waking up to face the utter impossibility of a delicious and nutritious smoothie, because I’d been too feckless to clean the apparatus after creating yesterday’s concoction. It’s disappointing that after all the feeding, rocking and cooing I’ve done for my daughter, she’s still not making any contribution to household chores. If it starts this way, it’s going to be hard to put her right later on.
Dreams are never that interesting: I agree with Half Man Half Biscuit:
Your weird dreams
Don’t impress in any way
Weird things are mundane and everyday
Strange to me would be
Buying a loaf
And coming straight home
If only I’d stopped off for some bread on my imaginary bobby’s bike, I could truly have been living the dream. Er. Or the song, about the dream. Oh, whatever…
Such ennui couldn’t pollute the rest of the day. Rested after that long sleep, I fairly sprang out of bed. Well, shambled forth, and walked with wife and child to the Canadian consulate, where my wife’s new passport was waiting for us. Our daughter dislikes silence (or Canadian government officials, we don’t know which yet) so I looked after her in the Starbucks below the consulate while my wife collected her passport.
For a while I felt like I was in a terrible 80’s romantic comedy, where a single father meets a wonderful lady in a coffee shop, but
(a) I’m not in Seattle and (b) I’m pretty sure my wife would get cross if she came back with 5 more years on her passport, to discover me canoodling with some random bint. And what sort of example would that set for my daughter?
Far safer to just eat a croissant, and bear the glances of early morning caffeine addicts, either annoyed that I’d brought a slightly noisy child into their environment or (more probably) disgusted that I was adding more butter to an all-butter croissant.
If you’ve had a dream about a bicycle, a croissant and thoughts on a possibly-non-existent 80’s rom-com pass through your head in short succession, of course you’ll be a bit confused. Lucky I had the coffee to rehabilitate my psyche. Because it’s not like there’s ever been any problems that coffee hasn’t failed to improve.
The rest of the day, then, passed without complaint. In the absence of things to have raging panics about, I’ve been tidying up some things in my database, which is not anything for most of the world to be amazed or awed by. Perhaps when I’ve done something very very clever, I’ll shout about it some more. But not yet. Hopefully this has given me a chance to make everything a bit tidier, a bit more rational, so the next time I blunder into the office half awake and try to do something, I don’t spend half an hour sweating that I may have just done the business equivalent of feeding my foot to a tiger.
Well, there are better ways to get your adrenaline fix.
I came home this evening to a clean and tidy flat, which I failed to make messy again. That bodes well for tomorrow, and my second smoothie of the week. No chocolate this time, I think. Whether it’s time for the world to suffer the Adventures Of Garlic And Onion Smoothies or not is a mystery, wrapped in an enigma, and probably thrown down the garbage chute at 7:30 tomorrow morning.