Image by paula rúpolo via Flickr
I have never remembered my dreams well. I probably have between five and ten dreams a year that I am able to recall with any clarity.
I don’t know how I feel about that. I have always been jealous of friends who describe being able to manipulate their dreams or recall long dream sequences. As a postmodernist writer I love dreams in media, and kind of feel like I’m robbed of something by not having them myself. On the other hand, I kind of like the solitude and peace of remembering nothing, and I’m afraid that disrupting it will end some vital process.
Anyway, I’m trying. I put a pad of paper down beside my bed, and I am attempting to condition myself to write down my thoughts immediately after waking up. I’m two days in and so far- nothing.
The last dream I remember was sitting on top of a moving train and eating a bag lunch. I’ve never done that, so I found it strange that my brain was able to produce it so convincingly.
