I stayed at Matty's last night supposedly 'on call' but had a relatively undisturbed night. Undisturbed, that is, apart from dreams. I awoke abruptly at ten past four, went to check on Matty who was snoring softly. As I returned to bed I remembered the dream from which I had woken. We, the immediate family - Matty, my siblings and I had committed a murder and were making plans to flee the country. I wanted no part of it, was certain we'd be caught and wanted to distance myself from the rest of the family. Who did we murder? Some old guy. Why? I have no idea. Maybe it was an accident, maybe a mercy killing. I tell you - I was almost frightened to fall asleep again.
In my second dream I had discovered the knack of making babies without the necessity of sexual congress. I had a selection of the little blighters in swaddling wraps lined up on the office counter. They were pretty babies, created with purloined genetic material from my work colleagues. I was hoping to find them good homes but had some little frisson of guilt for having got carried away with the project with no thought for eventual outcomes.
So in my dreams I take away life and then I create it. And all done in worry and guilt. What is it they say? Freud would have a field day. I bet he wouldn't. I bet he'd yawn politely and say,
How very humdrum.
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