I’m the last person to know what’s going on in my mind

whats-going-on-in-my-headI’m serious. My mind has a mind of its own. It’s like my brain is on broadband and the rest of me is on dial-up.

I got another example of this last night/this morning. I woke up from a romantic dream.

Just to be clear, I have not recently been in, currently in or expecting to be in a romantic relationship. There are no prospects old or new. I have not been watching romantic movies nor reading romantic books. Honestly, after this election season, who would be in a romantic mood?

I’ve mentioned many times that my life is quietly unremarkable, punctuated by occasional bursts of pure excitement, such as writing my books a few years ago or last year’s GNABRT. While I am rightfully proud of my quick and vivid imagination, I’m not usually given to flights of fancy within my waking world.

Of course, the farther one of my dreams is from normal, the more I can grasp the threads of it after I wake up. It’s not simply sitting on the beach on some tropical isle or having a cozy dinner. I’d never remember that.

No, these dreams are constructs of complex machinations with multiple characters and befuddling intricate details. Except in one area.

During my childhood, Superman comics used to do these things called “imaginary stories”. Many times it would have Supes married off to one of the women who orbited him. Usually, this was either Lois Lane or Lana Lang, though he did have others burdened with the same quirky alliterative fetish so essential to the “Silver Age” of comics.

In almost all of those imaginary tales (yes, I know, they’re all imaginary tales. It was the Silver Age, it didn’t need to make sense), the face of the lucky female was always obscured, blocked, hidden or otherwise unavailable to prevent the reader from ever knowing who Supes ultimately chose to wed. They did stuff like that all the time in the Silver Age.

That’s what my dreams are like. They are not about people I know or famous people, they’re about emotionally complex and fleshed out characters who, for some reason, I can never quite see their faces.

All this would be great fodder for psychoanalysts and there is a good chance that the reasons for all those quirks (including having romantic dreams) exist somewhere in my head. But good luck me trying to find it. I’m always the last to know what’s going on in my mind.

 

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