What Do Our Dreams Really Mean? God Help Me.

I may regret this post, but I've got to write it. Could be therapeutic.

Sigmund Freud believed that our dreams are often manifestations of latent sexual anxiety, most frequently Oedipal in nature. Conversely, Dr. Phil submitted that our nightly venture into the fantasy world represents nothing more than sick subconscious perversions which can only be overcome by pulling ourselves up by the boot straps and getting our wives' teeth whitened.

Hopefully, neither of these theories holds water, because if so, I may need to revisit my childhood.

A lot of our dreams share commonalities: We forget to study and show up late for a final exam. We try to run, but our legs pump in slow motion. We fall off a cliff and jerk ourselves awake just before splattering on the craggy rocks below.

My dreams fall along these lines, as well. The issue, however, is that they're embellished with additional details, like a Big Mac which has too much special sauce, another slice of processed cheese and a third patty containing the meat of 3,672 more cows.

For example, I'll show up late to that final, but I'll also be naked and holding hands with a seven-foot Gumby. Or I'll fall off that cliff, but won't hit bottom because my high school football coach catches me, dressed like Mrs. Roper from Three's Company. The really interesting aspect of dreaming is that it all seems to make sense while happening. "Thanks for catching me, Coach. That's a nice springy floral print on your housecoat. See you at practice."

I've grown used to some really sick and wrong dreams, and I usually rationalize that it's my brain's way of acknowledging pent up frustrations and fears. It's a tool for releasing the pressure relief valve in my unconscious mind in order to function in the waking world. A few Republican congressmen could benefit from this mechanism, to prevent being caught with real-life hookers, wearing real-life diapers.

Well, thanks for walking through this analysis with me. I feel a lot better just getting it all out there and inviting a little dialogue. I'd really feel better if anyone who reads this could drop me a note, and relate any dreams they've had;  the weirder, the better. Thanks. Oh, and there's one more dream I wanted to share; this one happened last Tuesday.

Batman was peeing on me—the Adam West Batman.

Do you think that's a signal that I'm destined to star alongside Christian Bale as the next Robin?