The other morning I woke to find a barely legible note I’d written to myself on my desk in my office. Seems I’d awakened from a dream and thought it was interesting enough that I should write it down.... I stared at the note and could vaguely remember getting up to write up, but the dream was pretty foggy, though as I contemplated the matter, a few details did start to return to me....
I dreamed I was at a hamburger making competition. A bunch of guys were trying to produce the very best burgers, as quickly as possible, and they had to make them to order for the audience. It was in some big tent on some lovely summer day and everyone was in good spirits, laughing, shouting, chatting, and the tent was therefore extremely noisy. Because I hate raw tomatoes (they’re vile, you know?), I kept shouting, “No tomatoes! Hold the tomatoes!” to the guy making my burger.
But he absolutely couldn’t understand me. No matter how I shouted, no matter how I varied what I was saying, I couldn’t make myself intelligible.
Finally, however, some light seemed to dawn; he nodded to himself, and started looking under some counter for something. And then, with evident satisfaction, he pulled out a book on interpreting dreams, because he knew it would help him make sense of what was going on.
And that’s when I woke up, and that’s what I thought was worth writing down.
So not only do I often know I’m dreaming inside my dreams, but the OTHER people in my dreams know it too.