Do losers dream of Excel Spread sheets?
Dreams, the nightly retreat of the weary mind. So often used as an expression of one’s ultimate waking ambition and desires, yet in the majority of cases most appear nonsensical and downright weird. Journey with me as I explore the innermost workings of our daily biological back up process and realise that not all dreams are what we would happily call our ideal.
Now, before I begin I want to make it clear that I wish to take no credit for the recollection of the following dreams, as these were told across the break table the following morning by various work colleagues of mine.
Case study 1.
Subject A likes his women as much as the next man, (read that sentence how you will by the way) and was embarking on one of the favourite dreams of Heterosexual males everywhere; Sleeping with a random bit of fluff.
Unless you are an oversexed hormone addled persistent chaser of the skirt or a Premiership footballer frequent sex with random women is painfully rare, so a virtual bit of action while you sleep is something of a bonus. As you are not actually cheating on your partner, its also a bit like getting one in for free, or a win:win as I like call it. Indeed every male who has ever had one remembers them for years to come down to even the tiniest detail, Subject A is steadying himself for something of a nocturnal treat.
He finds himself stood in a nondescript hotel corridor, rooms’ line both walls as far as the eye can see. Subject A begins to walk , causally admiring the gold plated light fittings and numerous floral paintings that hang on the wall at regular intervals. The door to his right creaks open a little and a pair of blue eyes and a red lipstick coated mouth appear in the intervening gap:
“Hi there, I’m (enter Scandinavian name here as subject A was not paying attention to her name, but was marvelling at the short hotel issued towel and thanking the management for scrimping on the linen budget) and I’m here alone needing some male company, will you join me?”
Subject A is in the room like a shot. She wanders over to the sumptuous double bed, all white sheets, fluffy pillows and rose petals. Sitting on the bed, she slowly pours two glasses of champagne and makes the universal sign for let’s get right to it and pats the bed next to her.
Subject A can’t believe his luck, but suddenly feels the urge to freshen up and hastily locates the en suite. Noticing the shower, he decides it would be only proper he give himself a quick once over and then proceeds to spend the remainder of the dream soaping himself up with a huge yellow loafer.
Case Study 2.
Subject B is something of an IT marvel; he has a good head for figures and a welldeveloped business acumen. Only on this night, Subject B is Founder and owner of D.V.D.A. porn productions and business is very, very good.
Tonight’s shoot is to be the opening scene to the company’s latest big hitter U Ass Masters, the second in its alternative golf series of adult titles (the first of which , won several Woodys). The cameras are all in position, the models are oiled and de fluffed ,and shooting is set to begin.
Subject B suddenly realises the accounts for this month are a little disorganised and that they could do with some attention, after all a balanced book is a happy book. So off he trots spending the remainder of the dream analysing stock counts, ordering Baby Oil in bulk (it’s much cheaper by the gallon) and Googleing fine filter camera lenses.
Now I’m not alone thinking both of these dreams are something of a missed opportunity. Why would our unconscious mind place us into the most desired of situations, only to yank us away and occupy us with such menial task as the construction of pivot tables or the washing of ones balls? Or is our own existence so mundane and uneventful that our psyches cannot even begin to process what a fantasy may entail and makes a run towards some kind of psychological comfort blanket at the last second in order to spare its blushes at its woefully inadequate attempt to tantalise? Have we forgotten how to unleash our inner creative selves in our most relaxed and free state, and ultimately how to dream?
If getting chased through my hometown by marauding GCSE exam papers wearing nothing but a soiled pair of y-fronts is dreaming, then I for one wish sometimes that I could forget…