Behold!

I believe in little super powers. Superpowers that cannot be used to fight crime or change the world—no flying, or laser-vision, or talking with dolphins (is that Aquaman does?)—but powers nonetheless. Little super powers are something possible, but not common; somewhere between ordinary and extraordinary. Some people tan really easily. Others can eat anything they want without gaining weight. I am jealous of people that can learn a new language in a matter of weeks.

My unimportant power is that I dream well. Perhaps that is utter nonsense, but what I mean is that my dreams are strong—they affect me powerfully, and always in positive way. It’s really quite a selfish power, since it does no one good besides me, but I am happy with it. Sometimes my dreams are crazy, other times very mundane, but always I wake up happy. I never want to get out of bed, not just because I am so warm wrapped up in my blankets like spaghetti around a fork, but also because I am glowing with the pleasant hangover of some quality time spent in dreamland.

My dreams are like movies: always enjoyable, no matter if they are action, or comedy, or even horror. I am totally engrossed by movies—can never fall asleep during them, can hardly pay attention if they are on in the background—and maybe it is because they remind me of my dreams. Cause and effect is pretty blurry in this case, but the feeling I have lying in bed, batting lazily at my alarm, is the same I feel rooted in the theater seat while staring at the credits. Whoa.

Whoa. Dreams are even crazier than a movie because they quickly dissipate into nothingness, fading from my memory like steam off a mug of tea on a cold day. I grasp at the images, try to stitch scenes together and put names to faces, but often I am left with nothing but the dull feelings left over from the dream. Always these feelings are good, which is surprising when the images I remember or distorted faces or grisly murders. Yes, my dreams aren’t always good—it’s just that I dream good. I dream well.

I wish that my power was not so selfish—I wish that I could alleviate the night terrors that many people experience, or help others to dream like I do. I wish I could take people with me—allow them to incept into my dreams (don’t steal anything, Leo!)—and have them appreciate these free movies that I get to see every night. I wish everyone could feel like a warm spaghetti noodle in the morning, although the world would be a whole lot less productive place if everyone shared my antipathy towards getting up and at ‘em.

My power could be more super, though. I have heard of people that can lucid dream—control their nighttime adventures—and certainly many people are better able to recall their dreams than I am. I almost shudder to imagine what it would be like to have that sort of creative control over your dreams; if you could do anything, why would you want to spend any time in a world where you are so terribly limited? How many lucid dreamers really do stay in bed all day, drug themselves into 14-hour sleeping binges, and are bored by their waking hours, waiting only to close their eyes and enter their world of endless possibility? I suppose that is not unlike many of the role-playing video games available today, to which many kids turn for an escape from the mortal world and a chance to have some control of their destiny.

I am happy it is not a true super power, that I cannot transport people into my dreams or make my dreams come true. That would be a heavy responsibility, and I am not sure I would want to explain to the global community why there are so many dragons and Kate Uptons running amok. Nor would I want my dreams to be any more powerful than they already are; it is hard enough to get out of bed in the morning. I am happy to have a free movie every night, but I am glad that I don’t live in the dark of theater.

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