Three nights ago, I had an elaborately detailed dream about a burning building. The 10 story building had about two hundred residents. My brain told me these details, as firemen came running up, yelling the amount of apartments, and bystanders talked about the number of residents. Everyone was talking about it, and I could see the pyjamas of the bystanders, the shiny hats of the firemen and the lights of the trucks reflecting throughout the streets and buildings nearby. The fire was getting out of control, as I could tell from the smoke, the crackling sounds, and the flames licking their way through the buildings and windows. Panicked residents started jumping out of the building from 3 to 5 stories high, screaming and hoping they will survive. A dull thud followed with each and every one; the sound was very clear as if I was actually there. A lot of the residents died instantly. Someone made a reference to the 11th of September, but mispronounced "9-11". I wanted to correct when I heard a different sound. Some of the legs of the jumping residents broke on impact, which produced a different sound, apparently. Some of those residents survived, calling for an ambulance worker nearby. I could smell the smoke, and the disgusting fragrance of burnt flesh. I saw windows bursting into pieces, falling down on the floor below. I heard the fire-fighting strategy of the firemen, and saw some of them taking out unconscious residents. I saw ambulance workers save lives and put masks on residents which were exposed a long time to the smoke. I heard the bashing of fire axes against doors inside of the building. I saw blood gushing out of the wrists and arms of residents who did not think to protect their arms while shattering their windows to jump out of the first floor. I saw bystanders give medical care to them. I heard the panicked screams everywhere, little kids crying, mothers shouting, fathers crying. My brain produced horrible details, which had me awake at 3 am, sniffing for smoke in case I somehow woke up from a fire. I didn't. Everything and everyone was fine. It was just a bad dream. I woke up.
Two nights ago, I dreamt that my supervisor had asked me to teach a class in his course, as he had to go on vacation. My brain did not suggest any more details. Apparently, my subject was "Ireland". As I asked myself what exactly the students needed to know about Ireland and media, my brain quickly came up with an idea: let's go back in time and suppose that my supervisor also said that I could use his book. So suddenly I had a book. I opened the book, and saw pages on "media portrayals of Ireland". That made more sense: at least I had a guideline. In my dream, details became more vague, as I looked at the images of supposedly Irish people drinking, wearing stupid hats, making soda bread and, last but not least, eating pigs alive. The FUCK, brain? Then I felt pressure: in half an hour, I had to give the talk with my outline, which was, of course, very vague and undetailed. I did not have any time to practise talking about Ireland, and all I had was something about clovers, drinking, soda bread, and, apparently, eating pigs alive. I had no actual media effects message. The apprehension became too real. I woke up.
My nightmares are becoming shorter, I thought. The details are less vivid, which is a good thing.
But then, last night, I dreamt that for an unknown reason I had a peanut stuck in my eye. I woke up.
My brain is just getting lazy. I don't even like peanuts.
