This is a weird thought I had the other morning when I woke up in a grump. There was no evidence in the real world for my grump. I wasn’t feeling hormonal. Nobody had annoyed me. I hadn’t had any bad news. I hadn’t stubbed my toe. All appeared relatively serene and pleasant.
So as I stomped around the house being stroppy, I decided to try to work out the source of my grumpiness. And after going through the list above (bad news, hormones, annoyances etc) it came to me in the form of a vivid image passing through my mind from my slumbering activities. I remembered my dream. It had been a bad dream. It has been an awful dream.
I won’t bore you with the nature of the dream. Suffice it to say that it involved travelling back in time, fear, anxiety and waking with a racing heart. I had soon put the bad dream aside upon waking, forgotten about it, risen, drunk coffee, eaten a toasted sandwich and started the day. Yet, I had felt this underbelly of grumpiness that wouldn’t shift. Nobody was able to do anything right. My children were just here to be served. The kitchen was dirty. There was stuff everywhere. I had too much work to do and not enough time to do it in. I didn’t know what to wear. The recent colder weather was an added frustration I didn’t need to cope with. Everything and everyone existed to get on my nerves.
All this, because my subconscious had decided to write a play I didn’t want to be a part of. At least I hadn’t dreamt I was getting rather fruity with Gordon Brown (yes, I have also had that dream). That might have put me in a better mood. Might, I emphasise.
This is a thought I had walking into the house yesterday (so not in the usual place, again). We were discussing dreams as we got home late at night after a party. My middle son was telling me about the strange dreams he has and he and I concluded that we remember our dreams a lot. My eldest son mused that he thought that he didn’t remember his dreams very often.
What will they dream about tonight?
Before I go on, I want to add that creativity comes in all sorts of guises and I wouldn’t want to label one person as ‘creative’ and another as ‘not creative’. There are degrees of creativity and I’m sure that everyone has a more-or-less equal capacity to be creativity. I think that some people are more in touch with their creative abilities than others.
I’d say that my middle son enjoys using his imagination a lot and he is very good at tapping into his creativity. My eldest son is more logical and methodical and he struggles with imaginative tasks (although there are exceptions, he is currently creating a Lego Simpsons house because we are too stingy to pay £180 for the official one).
What my son wants me to buy for him
The home-made Lego Simpsons house
So it interests me that within our little family unit we have differing abilities for dream remembering. I remember most of my dreams. It is rare that I wake up not knowing what was happening in my head in the middle of the night. My eldest son, remembers just a few of his dreams. My husband, too, claims that he remembers few dreams. His brain works in a very similar way to my eldest son. They are both have very logical brains. They both love maths and even numbers of eggs.
If I had one of these it’d be overflowing with dreams
So today after another weird dream involving a trip to Japan, spilling paint in the areoplane, and being back at college I turned to Google to try to find some answers. Look what I found! The scientists agree with me.
Then I found this. So I should be a genius by my age. And also this. What am I doing with my life? I should be the Prime Minister by now. Move over David Cameron.