It’s always strange when a dream goes from one thing — and a pleasant, lazily benign thing, for that matter — to something else without warning; something that has me wondering just what my subconsciousness is playing at, and working through. Last night/this morning’s dream is fading, already, but what I remember includes being at some comic convention of some kind in the U.K., where I ran into an old friend from school by accident — only for the two of us to suddenly be separated, with no idea of what happened. Turned out, both of us had lost our memories and the friend now had somebody’s head in his possession, much to his surprise and concern.
Despite what that sounds like, it didn’t turn into anything horrific, more oddly comedic and murder-mystery-ish: Who was behind our memories disappearing? Whose head was it, and how had my friend ended up with it? What do we do now? It was, in its own way, kind of wonderful, if utterly unexpected — an Edgar Wright movie of a dream, in many ways. But sadly, I woke up before I found out the truth behind my predicament. Perhaps that, in itself, is a lesson of sorts.