Here is what may sound like a truly bizarre confession for an author: My dreams are some of the most boring, repetitive things you could ever find this side of the last time you waited for your number to be called at the DMV.
I don't tend to remember my dreams, and that's because by and large they tend to follow dreary patterns: I'm in school, trying to find my way to class, and I can't because I don't remember my schedule. And I think, why am I even in school? I'm a grown man, I don't need to do this. And for entire minutes after I wake up, I keep thinking I need to find a way to gracefully tell people I'm quitting school and just going with my job fulltime.
Sounds strange, I know. You think someone who makes creativity his business, who writes novels and whatnot, would have more interesting dreams. But by and large, I don't. Mostly, they're utter tedium. No, I don't get it either. When they're not about school, they're about airports. Or about hotels. Or about getting lost on the subway or the highway or something like that.
The number of times I've had dreams that are truly memorable and that stand out from this drab pattern, I could count on one hand. The ways in which they were memorable, though, are not things that I can effectively communicate to other people, because they revolve around things that are so personal, so esoteric, that talking about them would be counterproductive.
A few evenings ago, there was this magnificent sunset visible from a back window in my office. (My office has north and west windows.) I have a fairly good camera, and I did my best to try and take pictures of what I saw. All I got was something that looked like a bad cartoon of the original. Maybe if I had a $5,000 camera and tons of software I could have produced something a lot more faithful, but I don't have that kind of budget or equipment. And when I was done, I said to myself, "I guess the original was just meant to be looked at and not photographed."
This is how I feel about trying to talk about those few truly memorable dreams. Every time I've tried to talk about what made them special, all I could do was blither and babble. I'm left then to talk about the dross. Perhaps someday I'll find a way to talk about the dreams that matter without making an incoherent ass of myself, but today is not that day.