Most of us might have dreams.
(Barring perhaps stray cases like my best friend who swears that he does not dream while sleeping. But then, he has been known to stretch the truth sometimes, so uhmmm...)
To make it simpler, let's just say that a majority of people DO dream. Hell, some of us even daydream, don't we?
The ones blessed with acute memories recollect vivid details, some remember in bits and pieces, while the rest come up blank, having absolutely no recall of their dreams whatsoever.
That most people dream – that is a given.
However, there is a question that would probably make people split into two, hoarsely-shouting, on-the-warpath, clearly-demarcated groups.
Dreams. And which colour they appear to us in.
Now Calvin (from Calvin and Hobbes) - that precocious, sardonic, black-humoured, reality-shifting, time-travelling six-year old, describes his dreams and the monsters who appear in them, graphically to his stuffed tiger, Hobbes – with all the energy that only he can muster up. Most often than not, his dreams are in different shades of slime-green.
Then you have hubby darlin', who claims that he dreams purely in blacks, white and shades of grey.
And then you have me. Whose dreams vary from sprays of multi-colours to their faded green-greyish counterparts.
Despite my notoriously sad memory, I have an enormous affinity for recalling dreams.
Much to everyone’s amusement and / or astonishment.
And to the exasperation of all those who have to hear my faithful narration of that time when the tribals were busily stirring some herbs into a cauldron, above which they had trussed me like a sardine on two barbeque grills, smacking their lips thinking of the treat that lay ahead.
What about you?
As Sidney Sheldon says, 'Tell Me your Dreams.'
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