What Dreams Don’t Come

I was going to talk about my dream a few days ago that a recording had been found of Johnny Cash covering AC/DC’s “Who Made Who”, but I had one of those super-vivid, reality-bleeding dreams the last time I slept.

In the dream, I had limited but still unbelievably cool telekinesis. Not enough to hurl cars, but enough to move household objects around. It was so ridiculously real in the dream that for the first 5-10 seconds upon waking up, I tried to move my pill bottle to my hand.

And then I remembered, “Oh, yeah. That was a dream. I don’t have super powers.”

I’ll remember this the next time a Christian tells me that I hate God and just don’t want Him or heaven to be real.
Bullshit. I want super powers.
I wish I could change reality just by pressing my hands together and appealing to my omnipotent sky-uncle. I don’t care if my powers came second-hand; if prayer worked even on the most mundane level, I’d be able to heal people and change probabilities and control thoughts and return American soldiers from the battlefield without a scratch…

That sounds awesome, not like something I’d hate. Too bad it doesn’t work.

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