This morning I awoke with a start and the unsettling realization that I’d had strange dreams. I tried to recall them before they faded and poked Brian, who was already awake. Immediately telling someone about my scary dreams tends to help dispel any lingering feelings of unease.

“I had weird dreams,” I said. “My best friend from high-school had had a daughter through artificial insemination, and the kid was somehow five. She’d named her Scotch.”

Brian said, “Strange,” and I went on.

“Then I had another dream where I was a younger member of this huge family, and I had to hide around the house, because if they found me they might hurt me. I was just scared all the time.”

“That’s upsetting,” Brian said soothingly. “Last night I dreamed we rented snowmobiles. We were snowmobiling everywhere. It was great!”

He added, “Vvvvvroooom-vroom! Weee!”

“Wow, that’s nice,” I said sourly. “My dreams are full of disturbing subtexts and free-floating anxiety, and your dream was all ‘We have snowmobiles! High-five!’ ”

“Well, the only one I could remember was.”

“Right. Probably the other ones were full of serial-killers, but you forgot them.”

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