I had a dream the other night that on the surface was as really insignificant on the same level that it was absurd.

At some point during the day, within my dream, I got a scratch on my glasses that went the length of the lens. In my dream I lost my mind, as if it was the absolute worst thing in the world that could happen to a person.

To be fair, I really, REALLY hate specks on my glasses. It legitimately sticks in my craw until I can do something about it.

In the dream, I got mad. I tried scrubbing the scratch off in the hope that it was a hair and not a scratch. I tried everything, but still the scratch persisted.

And so when I woke up I was mad and frustrated, first at the events in my dream. Then I was mad and frustrated that I couldn’t get back to sleep again, compounding the frustration tenfold, especially later in the early morning when our adorable, belligerent alarm clock Nemi began her fabulous, funny freakout at 6:30 a.m.

It’s what I’ve come to call her breakfast break, as it’s usually her frantic way of letting me know she’s starving to death and I need to feed her ASAP, regardless of my current level of peaceful, relaxed sleep. It’s a matter of life and death and she’s letting me know this by the panicked running back and forth across me and meows of frustration that I don’t see things her way.

Clearly I’m some cruel monster that enjoys watching her suffer, even though I suffer from sleep deprivation later in the day from her breakfast breaks.

But I’ve veered suddenly off track, which I’m sure you’ve noticed by now. You’re sipping your coffee, shaking your head, thinking to yourself, “He’s doing it again.” That’s followed by the audience laughing because the look on your face is just stone-cold hilarity to them.

Which in turn is followed by the question, “why are all these people in my kitchen?”

So back on track we go. I’ve always had a pretty active imagination, stemming from a childhood where I was an only child and spent a lot of time with animals.

Now don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t an unpopular kid necessarily, but I wasn’t the koolest kat on the block, to the point where I could get away with using the phrase “kool kat” spelled with “k’s.”

And so I fell back on an imagination that worked in perfect conjunction with the books I read: fantasy, science-fiction, thrillers. One moment I was a knight fending off the ogres in the copse of trees behind the Catholic Church in good ole Lake Wilson, Minnesota. The next I was Jason Bourne saving the world from the Russians or whichever Bond supervillain was supervillaining at the time.

The point of this is that my subconscious took this creativity and brought it into my dreams. Yes, I was one of those people that from time to time would write my dreams down and even went through and tried to actually look deeply into my subconscious to figure out what’s wrong with me, which I think we can all agree probably needs more than a column to figure out. And maybe a scientist or two.

But it didn’t take a scientist to figure out the meaning of sitting on the bench during basketball and not getting into the game. That was just a cruel reflection of life by my subconscious, reflecting the fact I never really got into the game. Of course being of the towering five-foot, six-inch variety, the realities were I wasn’t really good at basketball.

Still, my dreams didn’t need to point this out. I found that mean.

But there were other times of high creativity. I remember a succession of nights where I built a city, starting at the same place in the city every night, and gradually building outward, expanding down and outward from my starting point.

It was so detailed that I would recognize the same things every night and even sometimes commenting  in the dream that I remembered certain places.

I can even see it right now in my mind’s eye as I write this.

What did it all mean? Heck if I know, but I can guess it’s the overactive imagination working far too much.

Or maybe there is something deeper I just haven’t cracked yet. Afterall there are a lot of movies out there that deal with these things and there is an entire subgroup of people who believe the Matrix is a reflection of us actually living in a computer simulation, complete with instantly learned kung-fu.

I’m still going to hold off on going out and trying to snap boards with my hands or head. After all, I’m still fairly mundane.

So what’s all this mean?

Nothing really. I just didn’t have anything to talk about this week so — dreams. You’re welcome ladies and gentleman and we’ll see you next week.