Arrgggh my mind!

I have vivid dreams.  I dream about battles and ships and storms and monsters.  I have woken up scared more nights than I can count, and as a kid had so many nightmares I actually had to try and train my brain to ‘switch’ off from frightening things, otherwise I wouldn’t sleep.  (Have you ever had those kind of dreams where you know you’re dreaming, but that information seems rather irrelevent compared to the absolute certainty that the virulent disease currently running through the human race and turning blood to a purple living, leering organism that can only be combatted by the excessive and genuine laughter that you can’t right now muster for terror… anyway, the kind of dream where you know you’re dreaming, but can’t do anything about it?  I used to have a lot of those and, as a kid, managed to eventually summon the image of a TV remote into my mind which I’d use to ‘change channel’ whenever I had nightmares.  Usually to awesome flying dreams.  Which themselves needed a lot of training, since my first flying dreams were all about being unable to fly very well… anyway, yes, is anyone really surprised by Mirror Dreams after that…?)

Point is.

I’ve got a bit of an over-active imagination.  And I scare really easily.  But I like to think that a side-effect of all this is that, if nothing else, my dreams ain’t dull.  Even boring school dreams usually ended up in explosions and gun battles; even dreams about theatre lighting tend to conclude with a ninja hoard battling giant spiders across the lighting grid.

Which raises the dire question…

… why in the name of all that’s holy, can I not stop dreaming about my goddamn tomato plant?!  I didn’t even mean to have a tomato plant, I was just given these tiny seedlings a few weeks ago by a friend, and now I have these monsters in my living room and there’s some fruit on some bits now and I’m terrified it’ll die before the fruit turns green and did I mention spaceships?  I dream about spaceships and monsters and epic battles and malign forces slipping through the quiet night so why, just why, am I getting so worked up about a bit of vegetable matter?!  Dear god, if this is the amount of stress having a plant produces, then I must never get a pet.  Or worse – much worse – children.  I don’t think I could take the stress.

Though granted, a dog might not become so sinisterly triffid-esque…