Dear Dreams?

*this an installment in my 30 Day Letter Writing Challenge. This time, I was supposed to write to my dreams.


How am I supposed to write a letter to my dreams? I've been pondering this question for at least two days, and I've yet to come up with any kind of cogent answer. It's hard enough to write a single letter to a plurality, but make that plurality as abstract as "dreams" and you've officially stumped the chump.

I was initially thinking, oh, this will be easy, I just write about my life goals and stuff -- that's what they mean by "dreams." That way I can dodge the whole issue of how weird my dreams are. But as Cinderalla says, "Dreams are a wish your heart makes when you're fast asleep" (again with the singular/plural issue!), so I'm right back where I started.

So two nights ago, I dreamed that I was cutting out pictures from magazines and gluing them to my baby. I was chatting to someone unseen, as I carefully snipped around the picture of a bare treebranch that looked a lot like a snowman's arm. Then, I affixed it to F's face with a gluestick. It was coming off her mouth, not unlike a skinny, crooked cigarette.

Earlier this year I dreamed that P and I were ghostbusters, un-haunting houses from a specific ghost which would eat odd table legs and children's toys. The ghosts lived in the two-by-fours that framed out the drop-down attic access door.

A few months ago I had a dream with a very elaborate plot, several acts and many costume changes. The final scene featured me in the ER waiting room with a terrible stomachache. A young female doctor came out to help me, and promptly cut open my torso (painlessly). After rooting around for a few seconds, she suddenly discovered the source of the problem: a baby alligator about two feet long. She pulled it out, then stuffed me full of dirty dishes, and sewed me back up again. It wasn't until I was standing in front a mirror admiring my new figure (oddly reminiscent of an overstuffed garbage back, with angles and points jutting out here and there around the dirty dishes) that I woke up.

It is with these in mind that I compose the following:

Dear Dreams,

Don't get a big head, alright? You are not exactly what I would call "a wish my heart makes" and I don't have any desire for you to come around during daylight hours. That said, thanks for being there. If dreams are the stuff of inspiration, I surely have something unique ahead of me.

Sincerely.