The Important Part About This Story Is That I Had An Onion On My Belt

If I were to personify the part of my subconscious that controls my dreams, I could not go past describing it as a slightly senile baby-sitter. "Now Tiger", I hear you think (or say, if you're prone to talking to your computer - and hey, I don't judge), "Calling your own mind senile is a little bit harsh" - well just hear me out.

Most nights I dream - and I remember the dream quite vividly, too (occasionally for quite some time afterward, depending on the impact the dream had on me...) - and I dream in colour, and there are ever-so-many dramatic plots and storylines and twists and turns. It is like being in a cinema watching some kind of epic film - only I am the epic film.

So there I am, using my terrific element control powers to fly through the air, chasing after someone who was picking on one of my friends, and hurling great balls of fire at them with ease that would make Mario envious, when suddenly I'm awake and writhing around in my bed slightly. I was just wooshing around the farm I used to live on - what is this strange soft creature covering me and why am I so warm?

And I'm not woken up by an alarm either - no - it seems that my brain decides that those climactic moments in my dreams are exactly the right times to alert me to the fact that what I was enjoying so much is not the real life. Following this, no matter how much I attempt to return to the my land of epic fantasy, I cannot - oh sure I can start a new dream, but unless I've been experiencing a horrible nightmare (in which case I return to exactly where I left off) going back to my miracle world is nigh on impossible.

In summary, my sleeping mind may as well be going: "Why don't you sit right back and I'll tell you a tale...And oh what a tale it shall be...*exceedingly epic and genuinely engaging story that gets to about 3/4 of the way through* and then...huh? Where am I? What was I doing? Oh yeah, I was telling you about the time that I *other story that is in no way related to the previous one*". Unless of course I'm having a nightmare, in which case it's more along the lines of "Did I ever tell you about the time your grandmother and I ran naked through the streets of Kabul? Yes? Well I'll tell you again! *you listen and start to fall asleep* Oh - you almost fell asleep there! Why not let me tell you about the time your grandmother and I ran naked through the streets of Kabul to keep you awake..."

And it's not just limited to dreams, oh no, now it's started to extend itself to my waking hours. Every morning, as I'm moving around the house preparing for work, I have thoughts about what I want to tell you all on that day. The second I reach a computer - BAM and the blog concepts are gone!

The moral of this story is that I'm still trying to figure out why on earth I opt to go swimming in my dreams. I am terrified of the ocean, and I'm even more scared of the fact that something is going to come at my from inside deep water and touch me or eat me or something like that. I would much rather stick to the dreams where I have super special awesome powers of magic and coolness, or the ones where the black knight whisks me away on his stallion to his castle where everything is always clean, and it's usually raining and the chocolate is dark and...*swoons*