I’ve always been a vivid dreamer. When I was younger (and I’m talking like 3), I would come into my parents’ bedroom and recant these long, involved, and often nonsensical dreams for minutes on end. They would be detailed, they would be elaborate, and they would be weird. At first my parents thought that I was making it up, but I would go on and on and on and on and they realized that I really just DID have that strange-ass dream and I really DID just remember it all.

Things haven’t changed much over the years. In college, I would wake up my roommate first thing in the morning with the phrase “I just had the craziest dream!” and then, much to her non-morning-person dismay, proceed to tell her all about it, with startling detail. (We finally made a pact that I would give her until she was done with her shower before I went to town on my somnabulist creativity.)

I’ve been known to write full books in my sleep, or at least come up with a few kick-ass ideas that, when trying to write them down in the morning, seemed far less kick-ass and far more strange. I’ve told people off, I’ve awoken crying (especially after September 11 and at other somewhat tumultuous times in my life.) When I was younger, I’d even have these half-awake dreams, when I was CERTAIN that someone was in my room watching me and, being the self-conscious teenager that I’ve of course grown out of by now, would take out my retainer to save myself some unnecessary embarrassment.

I’ve got friends that talk in their sleep, a practice I’ve not yet picked up but am sure at some point I will. (I mean, I talk enough during the day as it is — who said sleeping has to stop that!?) I know a few sleepwalkers as well. And anyone who’s drunk dialed me only to have me wake up and attempt to have a semi-logical conversation can attest to the fact that at times I’m anything but coherent and that ‘semi-logical’ is really pushing it. And, for my piece de resistance, I’ve been known to get legitimately angry at people (including guys I’ve dated) for things they’ve done in a dream. I’m not talking “Oh honey, I was so mad at you in my dream because you hooked up with Susie” but more like “DO NOT SPEAK TO ME, you asshole, I CANNOT believe you have the audacity to talk to me after all that you did.” Though my sweet befuddled darlings have repeatedly reminded me that it was just a dream, my brain somehow can’t separate the feeling of anger and being hurt that early in the morning.

As such,

If you were just in my dream, I don’t mean to be mad at you.
If you were just in my dream, I promise I don’t REALLY think that you embarrassed me in public, nor do I really think that idea about the scrapbook of me being ‘ballsy’ was a good idea.
If you were just in my dream, I really AM looking forward to seeing you soon as opposed to you ‘being lucky just to have me in the room, you cheating asshole.’
If you were just in my dream, I know you didn’t intentionally make out with that trollop in front of me, and further know that if you had, you wouldn’t have told me to ‘chill the hell out, it’s not a big deal.’ (Because I know you would KNOW that it would be.)
If you were just in my dream, I’m sorry for mid-dream throwing all of your CD’s out the car window.
If you were just in my dream, just give me a few hours — I’ll get over it and my brain will finally understand that it didn’t really happen.
If you were just in my dream, I’m both happy and scared that you were.