I seldom remember my dreams. Maybe that's because sleep is just a brief respite from consciousness for me. I lay down and black out, then wake up and fight the day's battles all over again.
I remember my bad dreams, though. I had a couple in Bangkok.
I dreamt I lent my editor my little convertible for a spin, and he promptly crashed it into the rear of another just like it. Only it was colored blue. The same royal blue color of that other 2-door number I was thinking of buying last year. Anyway, in the dream, I remember thinking "Well, isn't that nice" while facepalming myself. I'd just gotten my sedan - which IRL had suffered a fate similar to what I had in the dream - out of the casa last December, and now it's the little car's turn. Why the hell not?
Then I woke up.
The next night's dream was a little more disturbing. I dreamt that my brother had died. But it was very casual - just one of those things I made a mental note of while I was engrossed with work. And then in the dream, I finally got around to asking my mom when the burial would be. Then I realized I had already missed it because I was working.
And then I sobbed and sobbed in the dream.
I haven't sobbed in real life for a long time.
Strange dreams. I wonder if they mean anything.