“Oh, my dreams–“

For a little while I was keeping track of my dreams, particularly around the time I was reading a lot of Jung.  (Aside: Funny how as soon as you start reading about Jungian dream analysis, your dreams start getting all Jungian).  But these days there’s no point.  It’s not that I don’t dream.  It’s just that the alarm clock is set to turn on NPR in the morning.  So the only dreams I remember are news dreams.

Like recently I dreamed I was at a prayer meeting, and George W. Bush showed up, and confided that he had lung cancer or something like it.  He was a nice guy in person, although he could be a little stuffy.  Another time recently I dreamed I was in India at the headwaters of the Ganges (NPR was doing a series on the Ganges).

Actually it’s probably an improvement over my old dreams, since my unconscious by itself is rarely very imaginative.