I love to dream.

Often my nightvisions (which, let’s be honest, happen during afternoon naps mostly) involve the exact same thing that I am doing during waketime. But then there’s the other times. Two nights ago I was parachuting into North Korea. Just now I was in Germany, hanging out in a flat with my cousin Melissa, her mother Cheryl, and my friend Tuta. And some older German fellow I assumed was sleeping with Tuta.

There was a dog, black, and large windows that allowed us to see the house next door. Most of the dream was spent commenting on the conspicuous older man who lived there and drove fancy cars (which looked like a cross between a Cadillac and the Pope-mobile) very quickly down his steep driveway. Tuta worked on her blog, which had a looped Bugs Bunny cartoon playing in the background. On the television was some commercial which featured an old jingle popular during the time of the Olympics in some other country. (Or so Tuta and her man said over and over) I think I remember my cousin Josh entering the scene and discussing his all-night partying and rabble-rousing. I passed from room to room and somehow tripped over the dog every time. The neighbor and his car was constantly visible from the window.

There are hints of real-live wake relationships between some of my dream’s images and how they played out. I delight in how vividly all the details remain with me. And how, because I fell asleep listening to the original cast recording of Cabaret, it all makes some sordid sense.

As for the earlier dream of North Korea, well, I have no idea. I only know that I was in danger of missing the flight and was admonished by the army captain aboard before I leapt from 50,000 feet.

The thing I love about dreams are their inner-logic and simultaneous surreality. I’m happy that these weren’t as disturbing as some of my past dreams, and yet they are perfectly odd enough to entertain me long after I have woken up.