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Reading my dreams

I come from a family of readers. As a child, getting sent to my room didn’t seem like that much of a punishment – I would just read. (Shh, don’t tell my parents.) Anis’ bed was always full of books. He would just sort of lay down among them, like a nest. Naysan spent the first few years of his life in my mom’s bookshop. I remember his sitting in the kitchen one summer day when he was six, reading a book. When I say one day, I mean the whole day – eight hours, tearing through those chapters. Yes, he was precocious.

In addition to spending many of my waking hours reading, I sometimes spent my sleeping hours reading. Instead of experiencing, or directly observing, what was happening in my dreams, I would read it. So, what I was seeing in my dream were the pages of a book.

This morning was the first time in a long time that I read in my dream - I was reading an article about a new kind of Lego;. But I made the mistake of telling Sam about it (in real life, because he was already awake, trying to get me out of bed) while I was still reading the article. He asked me a series of questions, the first few of which I was able to answer, but then I lost connection with my dream state. Pooh.