Flannel Nightmares

OK, "Flannel Nightmares" may not be quite correct as a title for today's blathering; it makes it sound like I'm about to launch into a fashion critique of poorly-designed pajamas or something, and that's not even close. And it's not the fabric itself that gives me nightmares, either. I'm not really frightened of any particular cloth, except for maybe stuff that's been printed with "Hello Kitty" designs -- those things totally creep me out.

No, today's discussion is about the fact that I seem to have much more vivid and memorable dreams during the winter time, after I put flannel sheets and my fleece blanket on the bed. I don't know if it's something to do with static electricity that's generated by the interaction between the fabric layers, or if it's because I'm so toasty warm under the covers while it's so frosty cool on the outside of my cocoon. I'm sure that the people who study such things make a lot more money than I do, so I'll leave it to others to discover the science behind it. My job is just to report the effects.

Anyway, I'd be interested to know if this phenomenon happens to anyone else. In the months where I'm not all bundled up under all these covers, I tend to dream about swim meets, baseball games, and streetcorner political conversations with Al Trautwig, Reggie Rivers, or Isaac Newton. Normal enough stuff.

But I can tell that things are getting weird when people like Benicio del Toro and John Goodman start showing up. I wouldn't say that I actually get frightened...but those dreams are certainly more unsettling.

For example, I recently had a dream where I was part of an elaborate plot to ambush and eliminate the entire cast of the TV show, "Heroes". I was setting up a party at Stately Wayne Manor to bring them all together, and there was supposed to be this huge Kill-Bill-style swordfight massacre, except that I must've been plotting some sort of double-cross because I gave Nikki one of those round knife-sharpener things you get in one of those wood-block kitchen knife sets instead of the short sword/dagger she thought she was getting.

Zorro was there, too.

I woke up when somebody started making noise outside my bedroom window, but I found that I was humming a Weird Al song that I think might've been the motivation for the swordfight dream in the first place. Normally, when I wake up from a dream I might remember a few vague details -- there was a cat, or Walter Cronkite was wearing a spacesuit...stuff like that. But when I'm warm, I remember vivid specifics -- the third button of Sylar's shirt was a lighter shade of puce than the others, or Hiro pronounced "arregato" the way Styx did in "Mr. Roboto", which is just wrong.

The worst part is that I always seem to wake up right before something exciting is going to happen, and I have this feeling that I missed the best part. It's like having to listen to one of Yoda's boring "there is no try" speeches and missing the part where he lifts the X-wing out of the mud.

Oh well, at least I get some entertainment value out of my flannel-driven dreams. But I'm thinkin'...perhaps I'll pile on a few extra blankets tonight and see if maybe I'll get the samurai action I've been missing. I'll let you know.

Sweet dreams, my friends.