Vivid Dreams

So last night's dream was a weird one. Very Philip K. Dick, as my husband would say. Everything started normal- that is to say normal in a hallucinogenic dreamlike normal way. I was a slightly younger version of me, off on a crazy adventure with a bespeckled chubby 14-year-old boy. We started at a modeling casting call in New Jersey. This was probably a memory retrieved from early childhood. My mother believed that she could actually get me to do something productive and lucrative with my weekends.

Anyway, we started off as friends when we walked through the door but it quickly became apparent that I was not always quite myself. We switched bodies several times or maybe he disappeared and I turned into him several times because this was still my story and it was more natural to be in the body of a female. I had to face the next stage of the nightmare all on my own. I was auditioning for "America's Next Top Model." Can you hear the scary music?

I am not exactly supermodel material, and in the dream I couldn't understand who put me up to such public humiliation. I was getting into a terrible state. Tyra Banks would surely criticize the way I walked, my messy hair, and my entire external being. I was lined up next to younger, skinnier, and eager women. They at least had a shot at modeling fame. I didn't feel inadequate as a person, just inadequate as a walking clothes rack with a blank face. Sorry, I mean I felt inadequate as a model. I searched the room for that friend of mine and when he was lost for good, I chose to seek out the next best thing: an exit.

Just as I was about to leave the torture chamber of embarrassment, Tyra Banks said, "And you too will have the chance to be America's Next Top Model. Yes you, the Jewish girl." If I had a full bladder, I would have emptied it right there. Thank goodness for bladder control.

As Ms. Banks stared me down, my story as an awkward girl stopped and the boy's story began. I somehow teleported into him, outside of the casting call and onto a happy suburban street. We or rather I was skipping along enjoying the sunny day. I tossed an old baseball into the air and caught it with ease. I thought, "Okay, so I'm a boy. But this isn't so bad. La dee la."

But things soon took a sour turn when we—or I—found myself with his fictional father, a overbearing and cruel police sergeant who came straight out of a 1950s B movie. We—or rather I—was sent to his office at the retro police station. He was very angry and sat me down in a short wooden chair as he came up with a punishment for my crime. I'm not sure what I did but it was bad enough to warrant writing my apology 100 times on his scratchy chalkboard while he angrily watched me with folded arms. Other odd punishments continued until he did his worst; he threw out the boy's only pair of shoes. Our pair of shoes. Do I have a problem with authority or what?

As I walked home, depressed and shoe-less, I slowly reverted back into a female. I was me, the younger dream—me who couldn't understand how she got involved reality television. I opened a letter in front of my parents and explained to them that I made it to stage two of "America's Next Top Model." For some reason, they found that a short Jewish girl would add some diversity to the program and they sent me a plane ticket for their first location shoot in Ethiopia. I prayed that they would drop me in the next act but since Ethiopia is supposed to be beautiful, I was a little excited nevertheless. Just as we got off the plane my alarm went off and I was released from nightmare.

Vivid dreams are part of my life. Some are actually worth telling and I'm not sure that this one qualified. I've been a 19th century Chinese peasant woman, a Western missionary in feudal Japan, and a secret agent on the run. This one was just odd. A bit too multiple personality for me. But why do I dream like this when so many people can't remember a single dream? Perhaps I'll never know the answer. But I could spend a few hours wasting my time on that question. Hmm. Something to do tomorrow.

Insomnia

It finally happened. The big bad sleep disorder or syndrome or whatever called insomnia. I probably had a mild case. After all of these years of bad boyfriends, worries over grades, encounters with terrorists, and a sincere belief in ghosts did it finally happen to me?

At first I didn't believe that I was the type. There used to be a time when I looked forward to those few minutes before falling asleep when I could imagine any world or any situation to please myself. There was a few recurring fantasies about having superpowers and saving orphanages full of children. Sometimes I fulfilled my dress-up fantasies and imagined the 18th century court at Versailles. Then there were the typical pirates on the high seas scenarios where I convince the captain of the ship to let me take charge of the whole operation.

Then there are the dreams. I love to dream. I can remember some of my favorites up to 15 years ago. There is that one fascinating nightmare that I had as a four year old that I still can't shake where I was walking in a beautiful ballroom of some fancy hotel when WHAM! and explosion destroys the world around me, leaving shards of glass and twisted metal all around me. But even then, after waking from this horrifying apocalypse, I was never kept awake for too long. More sleep awaited me. A better dream. You can live out an entire alternate life within the nightly sleep cycle. I've been different races. In a few I lived as the other sex— and sometimes both at once. That was a very odd dream indeed.

For five days last week the sweetness of a full night's sleep eluded me. Each night it would start with a loud bang around 3.30-4.00 a.m. On night #1 I decided to scare myself with an overactive imagination. I scanned the room for the noise source. Looking at our closet I saw an impossibly large man standing in the dark. An intruder! He was going to kill me in my sleep but obviously froze up when I heard his clumsy entrance. But after a few moments and a bit more focus, I realized that it was just a mess of clothes dangling off hangers and onto the floor. I was safe, for the time being.

Then it happened again, each night for five nights last week and the bang and wallop of the crashing sounds outside also gave me a little clue. Oh yes, it was coming from my busy Brooklyn street. No real surprise there, I suppose. You can bet it is one of those garbage trucks. That, or a cement mixer. Oh why can't they work normal hours?

You may be thinking, "That is not insomnia, you foolish woman." But let me finish. Within moments I forget about the outside world and realize that I am not only awake but wide awake. This is an important distinction because when you are overtired, some kind of kick occurs inside of the brain and before you know it all of the worries of the day come flooding into the mind: must get renters' insurance; need to learn to drive like every other American; or why is it so hard to figure out the paperwork for my tiny retirement account? Those are only the first three upsetting thoughts among the dozen or so that can drive a person mad at 3.30 in the morning when nothing is to be done.

There will always be something to keep a person awake all night. Health fears, love fears, and general confusion about how to navigate our lives. THE MAN has made it very difficult indeed. But I now know the answer to insomnia of this sort.

My insomnia cure

Do not drink coffee after your supper. Make sure you finish that glass of wine at least 1.5 hours before bed. Turn on a fan or air conditioner to block out the noise and keep an extra pillow nearby in order to attach them to either side of your head if necessary. Most importantly, be sure to knock at least one item from your list of things-to-do during the day. (We finally got that insurance we needed. ) If all else fails, try to answer the following questions:

1. What are the three basic rock types?

2. What did you eat for lunch three days ago?

3. What is the difference between the summer solstice and spring equinox?

4. What is the birth order of your 3 best friends?

5. Which fantasy vacation do you find most appealing?

I guarantee that you will fall asleep within 20 minutes.

If Arnie Sold Cars

I hate it when Arnold Schwarzenegger shows up in my dreams. He's always trying to sell something. Last night it was the world's fastest car. It looked like an extra wide Ferrari that stretched to a ten foot wide disk as it reached speeds of around 600 miles per hour. It was actually a great deal and could travel from Paris to Moscow in 2 hours; Timbuktu to Cairo in 30 minutes; and Baghdad to Istanbul in 25 minutes.

I was on the verge of buying the thing since I happened to have a suitcase full of gold bars when I realized that this could mean the end to warfare as we know it and the beginning of something far worse. How could anyone be stopped when they are speeding down the highway in a blur of dust and smoke? An entire army could invade on these land-based supersonic sports cars.

I turned to the California governor and said, "No Mr. Schwarzenegger, I can't buy this right now. I must find a safe place away from these cars. They could speed into my favorite city and drop off a battalion of uniformed hitmen before anyone could say boo."

"But they are hybrid cars," he said to me in his recognizable accent. But his salesman days were over.

The only reasonable thing to do during a dream like that is to buy a remote island and hope that I'm forgotten. It turned out to be a lovely island on the Mediterranean. The fear of the super cars dissolved into a cute little memory as I dug my feet into the Italian sands and waited for the end of the world. A world now so far away...especially now that it would again take hours upon hours or even days to travel to the farthest reaches of the Earth. But that was okay with me. Maybe the best progress occurs when we slow down.

This is probably a sign that I am still not ready to get a driver's license.