Do you have sleepless nights, worrying about life’s problems and what to do about them? Things like bills to pay, finding a joint in your kid’s bedroom dresser or discovering that the 40,000-mile warranty on your car tires was just an estimate. Join the crowd. Rare is the person who hasn’t tossed and turned in bed at night listening to an imaginary cacophony of voices and specters that are all allied to rob of us a good night’s sleep.
We spend more than half of our lives in bed. Bed, that special resort where lots of things happen, from recreational adventures to solemn moments praying to a deaf heaven.
I’ve tried just about every solution to a good night’s rest. “My Pillow” sounded like a good idea. No luck. Then a “Sleep Number” bed. Same results. As a last resort I gave my dream maven a shot at improving my mental health. Bingo! It worked better that I had hoped.
Prior to my new dreaming method, my dreams were a Freudian smorgasbord, full of dark and dreary landscapes, reminiscent of those morose PBS television English mysteries where it is always cloudy or raining and filled with ominous characters with names like Wallander and Poldark.
My new method is a simple one. No more drowning in a pool of self-pity. Instead of trying to recruit allies in the sky, reach into your inner being. You know, those naughty and busy hobgoblins within you who delight in playing tricks on you and whisper into your ear, “Vote Republican, you won’t regret it” and “What’s a few hundred more calories.” You need to corral these pesky beasts and let them know that you are in charge. No more Mr. Nice Guy.
Since the inauguration of my new dream venue, I have become a more peaceful and happier person.
To give you a preview of the some of the best moments from a running series of sweet dreams, I’Il begin with a scene in a recent dream sequence.
I was in the busy lobby of a famous Manhattan Hotel, dressed in black tails and top hat. In a flash, I was tap dancing, levitating close to the ceiling and break dancing, all the while singing at the top of my lungs “There’s no business like show business.” Not bad for an 81-year-old man with arthritis and irritable bowel syndrome. All of this in living color, 5.1 high fidelity and with a syncopated all-star review that would put Busby Berkeley to shame. The camera angles were pure genius, especially the close ups.
Like most dreams, it instantly morphed into busy and complicated directions. Deceased friends and family appear for cameos, favorite pets come and go, and there are lots of ups and downs. There is little value in ups if you don’t have some downs. One of the best features of my new dream team is that I tell them jokes that are much funnier than the ones I tell when I am awake.
Maybe we get it all backwards. Maybe, just maybe, our dreams are reality and being awake is just a dream.
Since making peace with my inner self, I wake in the morning a happier person. Sometimes, when a bad day gets me into a funk, I look forward to climbing into bed at night to join my imaginary Broadway friends. Soon, the lights dim, the pit orchestra strikes up, the toe tapping begins and it’s show time all over again. Try it. You will like it.
You may get top billing and you don’t have to look your best. The box office opens at 10 p.m.
(Jim Baer lives in Concord.)