And I don't mean the idealistic kind of dreams like fantasizing about the house in the country with the white picket fence or any other similarly idyllic notion. Nor such flights of fancy that might be associated with space travel or a journey to the center of the earth.
Although, you know, there was that one dream involving Jennifer Aniston -- but you wouldn't want to hear about that ...
No, I'm talking about run-of-the-mill, dusk-to-dawn, deep-sleep dreams. You know, the crazy stuff about falling or being held under water or finding yourself naked in a room full of strangers.
I never dream anything like that. At least if I do, I never remember it. By the time I swing my legs over the side of the bed, rub my eyes and find my glasses, I have forgotten anything remotely interesting.
Except for the other night.
I had such a vivid dream, that when I woke up, I initially assumed it must be true. That's because it wasn't some fleeting stream of unconsciousness but a dream sequence in which I could remember facts, numbers, statistics and emotions.
Prior to that, the most thought I'd ever put into dreams was wondering if R.E.M. might induce REM sleep.
But the other night I dreamt that I had won the lottery. Won $145 million to be exact. Dream big or don't dream at all, I suppose.
And in the dream I even remember doling out millions to the kids and plotting our future in Key West. Granted, that's been a real dream of ours, but just never a real dream.
Sounds silly, I know. But I could not get over how clearly the numbers appeared to me and how vividly I remembered them when I awakened: 1-2-4-8-10-40. That's why the dream left such an impression on me, the specific numbers and how precisely I could recall them.
That in mind, I kept thinking about good old Hurley, the only guy stranded all those years on the mysterious island in "Lost" who managed to get fatter. His lottery-winning numbers were a recurring element of the show, so I thought maybe I was just remembering them.
Close, but no cigar. Hurley's magic numbers were 4-8-15-16-23-42. Thanks, Wikipedia!
Trust me, I don't usually blow my dough on lottery tickets -- unless the jackpots start reaching mammoth proportions. But with numbers like these in hand, I couldn't risk not playing them, could I? What if I checked the winning numbers on Thursday or Sunday morning and there they were -- Powerball winners?!?
That would be as bad as the guy who skipped his factory's ticket-buying group the one week they hit it big. Saved a couple of bucks all right, but lost out on millions.
With the huge sum I so vividly dreamed, I figured it had to be Powerball and not Hoosier Lotto -- unless in my dreams I had failed to see a decimal point and it was "only" $1.45 or $14.5 million instead of $145 million.
I couldn't take chances now. So I bought one Hoosier Lotto ticket and five sets of Powerball numbers, each with the same sequence, except for rotating the numbers for the Powerball itself.
After all, there had to be some reason I dreamed up these numbers.
So the lottery drawings come, and -- you guessed it -- I did not hit a single number. Not one. Not in Hoosier Lotto. Not in the Powerball.
Between those two games there were 12 different numbers pulled, but not a single one from my dream.
So now I face an even bigger quandary.
Do I continue to play these numbers twice a week, week after week in hopes my dreams will come true?
My investment amounts to $6 a chance or $12 a week. Over the course of a year, that would be a total outlay of $624. So I could play those same combinations for 23,237 years before I forked out $14.5 million, let alone $145 million.
Of course, I could wait until the jackpot conveniently hits $1.45, $14.5 or $145 million and then buy my tickets.
So I'm hooked. Got to keep playing or wish I never experienced this stupid dream.
The only way out now seems to be going to bed early and dreaming up something else to take my mind off this lottery predicament.
Jennifer Aniston, where are you when I need you?