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That's it. That's all that happens.
And this follows a fairly standard pattern for all of my "new" recurring nightmares: I'm trying to get a thing done, but I can't, because I keep getting distracted, or I forgot something. Fucking riveting, right?
Is it a good, healthy thing that my nightmares are so banal? The nightmares of my childhood had a rich, fantastic complexity. There would be giant beasts, crazy contraptions, psychotic people, and exotic locales. They were inspiring, my nightmares, and upon waking up and finding myself in the safety of my bedroom, delightful to recall and reflect upon. They'd stick with me for days.
The nightmares of my teen years were grittier and more realistic, but still thoroughly confusing and necessitating deep introspection. As I entered my twenties, my nightmares no longer required consulting a dream dictionary. And dreams? Non-nightmare dreams? Those are a welcome rarity.
I suppose it's an improvement to have far less frightening experiences while I'm trying to get some damned sleep. Maybe my brain is choosing function over form. But do my uninspired dreams mean that I myself am uninspired? Or are my problems now just very simple and plain for me to see?
Is my subconscious slacking? Have I allowed it to become lazy? Am I a bad subconsciousness curator?
Maybe my subconscious operations have been outsourced to a country with cheaper labor and more human rights abuses. I've tried turning it off and turning it back on. Now I have to call someone in another country and have them walk me through fixing something that someone else in their country (or a separate country that's similar enough to where I don't really care to make the distinction, but they'd probably nuke each other if given the option on a bad day) who is working sixteen hour days and barely eats, worked hard to build as quickly as possible.
Are there suicide nets at the factory where my dreams are made? Is it right next to the factory where they manufacture aspirations? Do they also produce whims?
Is the American dream™ imported from China?
How can I reclaim my dreams, my aspirations, and my whims? I suppose one solution is to stop buying insecurities. They're cheap, so I wouldn't be saving much money, but at least I'd reduce my carbon footprint. Maybe then I could clear the air for a triumphant resurgence of American dream™ manufacturing. Chinese air is filthy anyhow, isn't it? Is that the fault of my shitty dreams and my shitty aspirations and my shitty shitty whims?
Did you hear that they're installing self-serve kiosks in Wendy's restaurants? I always felt something like that made more sense at Chipotle or Panera, but I guess the only way to freely double up on a side of suburban smugness and self-satisfaction is to order it directly from another human being. You wouldn't want to upset corporate.
Great. Now I'm hungry. Where to, whims?