It happened again today. This time, though, I thought quickly enough to write down what I’d said to wake myself up:
“Well, I could, if they weren’t a restaurant and didn’t undoubtedly weigh several hundred tons.”
I have no idea to whom I was speaking or what I was speaking about. When I told E.S., we had the following conversation:
E.S.: That sounds just like what you say in your sleep at home.
FAUSTUS: How do you mean?
E.S.: You say things that don’t make any sense but I can always tell you’re angry.
FAUSTUS: …
E.S.: I mean, really it’s no different from what you say when you’re awake.
FAUSTUS: I hate you.
Maybe that was the response to, “If you love that restaurant so much, why don’t you marry it?” And questions like that could easily make you belligerent, right? I mean…MORE belligerent. (I kid. I kid because I love.)
Oh, Faustus, really. Do you expect me to believe that you’d consider marrying someone who’s such a dolt that he doesn’t know that if you were awake you’d say “they weren’t restaurants” or “it wasn’t a restaurant”? Now that I mention it, do you really expect me to believe that, even half asleep or fully asleep, you would say “they weren’t a restaurant”?
I don’t know whether it’s the cleverest or the lamest April Fools Day joke ever. I reckon I’ll have to get back to you on that.
Scooter: I think that, had that been the question, my answer would have been much more belligerent.
TED: Obviously we (I and my dream interlocutor) were talking about Les Deux Magots or some such.
My Mother says similarly random-sounding things in her sleep, according to Dad, the sometime-insomniac. The only comfort I can offer is to think but this, and all is mended… Dream-time, April-fools, quantum-turing-machine’s memory dump… Whatever fueled this post, it made sense at some point, in some context.
We often hate those who see us most clearly.