Typically, I do not remember my dreams. I think mostly because when I actually get to REM sleep, I sleep soundly. But the other morning I was half asleep and dreaming, and for once I was able to remember the dream after I woke up.
Eve and I were at some event, or maybe in church. But it wasn’t our regular church. Wherever we were had individual seats like an auditorium, not church pews. (I suppose it could have been our old church in Indy.) Anyway, while we were sitting there waiting for whatever mystery event to start, a one-man band comes walking down the aisle, jamming away.
The strange thing was that his “instrument” was completely made out of junk. Old bucket lids for cymbals, a used tire as a bass drum. Just a bunch of crap cobbed together into what he thought a one-man instrument should look like.
I leaned over to Eve and whispered, “You know, normally, I like a one-man band, but this sounds terrible.”
OK, wut? Nobody likes a one-man band, including me. Why I said it in my dream, I have no idea.
About that point I started waking up.
And realized that the “band” was actually the sound of the silverware and dishes being put away as Eve emptied the dishwasher.
I must need more sleep.