I 
don’t know about you, but I only remember dreams when I’ve been interrupted half way through them, and usually by my alarm. So it’s pretty lucky that I remember the dream I had last night because let me tell you, it was a good one. And by good, I mean absolutely freaking crazy.
It started with me, slaying it in a killer pant-suit like a lawyer with a fantastic and expensive fashion taste. I was standing in front of a crowd of important looking people in a large function room in Melbourne, urgently telling them that the ice bomb would be detonated by Donald Drumpf at any moment over the city. As I was making a last-stand type speech about how absolutely vital it was that we take him down and that there was no time to waste, the ice bomb evidently went off because next minute, don’t ask me how, we were all outside and there was ice everywhere, covering everything. Luckily, however, exactly where I was standing (the businessmen all mysteriously disappeared but hey, it’s a dream) there was a vendor selling ice skates. Obviously, my subconscious recognises that in the case of an icy apocalypse, ice skates would become the chief commodity. Anyway, I put the ice skates on like a boss (again, dream time) but there was no need to learn ice skating because dream-me was already a speed skating professional. Convenient, wouldn’t you think?
My race across the city to stop Donald Drumpf’s nefarious plan was rudely interrupted by the bleating of my alarm, but just think about how crazy that all is. The subconscious mind is a weird and wonderful thing my friends, if only I was that creative when I try to think of ideas for the novel I want to write. If only.
