Dream Housework

An ex-girlfriend of mine was once angry at me for 48 hours, in real life, because of something I did to her in a dream. Emphasis on ‘ex’.

I tend to quickly lose interest in books and films with a lot of dream sequences.

In unkind moments I have said to people, about to launch into another tiresome description of what they dreamt last night, “You are not even interesting when you are awake, why would I want to know about what you think about when you’re unconscious?”

Whenever you see a post in this blog where I claim that “last night I had a dream…” and then follow-up with some dire prediction or mystical plot point, this is a lie. I never have a dream that will make enough sense to write about.

Until now. And I want my money back.

I am quite regularly having, sensible, cogent, loooooong and detailed dreams about… wait for it… housework. Jesus H. Tap-dancing Christ!

Housework.

The other night I dreamt, in fume cloaked detail, that I cleaned the kettle and the top of the stove. I didn’t miss out a single bit. I even took the freakin’ winders off the hotplate controls and put them in a nice bowl of boiling water and baking soda.

The galling thing is those chores do need doing at the moment. So I’m going to have to do it all again in real life. Boring. Twice.

But now I’ve shared it with you, it has spread the boredom out a bit. It isn’t quite as deep as before.