Daily Dabble: Dreams — The High-Def, 4K Mind Movies You Didn’t Ask For

You ever wake up from a dream so vivid you swear you could pause it, rewind it, and rent it for $4.99 on Amazon Prime? Not that I would — Bezos already gets enough of my money every time I forget to cancel a free trial — but last night’s dream? It could’ve been the stoner version of Inception. You know, where all the rules make sense while you’re in it, and then the second you wake up, you’re like, “Wait… why was I riding a giant corndog through space?”

The Opening Scene

It started simple: me and Kushie at a taco truck. Normal enough… except the truck was floating thirty feet in the air and my feet were slowly sinking into a sidewalk made of marshmallows. Naturally, I was fine with this. Kushie was fine with this. The rest of the line? Just scrolling their phones like it’s the most Tuesday thing ever. That’s the magic of dreams — absolute nonsense treated with the same casual acceptance as a weather forecast.

I’m trying to order, but every time I take a step forward, my feet sink deeper into the marshmallow sidewalk. Not in a scary way — more like I’m in a low-budget Willy Wonka reboot. Kushie’s wagging her tail, looking at me like, “Finally, a sidewalk worth walking on.”

Then It Got Weird

The taco guy? My 8th grade math teacher. But now he’s wearing a cape. And instead of tacos, he hands me IKEA assembly instructions for a bong shaped suspiciously like a Dyson vacuum cleaner. Dream Bud, of course, is fully confident he can read Swedish.

I start flipping through the instructions, and suddenly the words are in wingdings. My math teacher nods like I should still understand. Kushie’s in the background, trying to barter with a parrot for extra guacamole. The parrot’s wearing a name tag that says “Manager.”

Stoner Science on Dream Logic

Here’s the thing: dreams are basically your brain’s way of clearing the browser cache — except instead of just deleting old search history, it mashes all your tabs together into one absurd slideshow and says, “Here. Deal with this.”

That’s why you’ll be in your childhood home, but your spouse is there, and also Snoop Dogg, and also you’re being chased by a giant meatball. And it all feels fine. Dream logic is a scam… but it’s the best scam we’ve got.

The Stoner Dream Upgrade Pack

If you’re a stoner, dreams are next-level nonsense.

Wake-and-bake nap dreams: Last about 14 minutes but feel like you’ve lived through a full Lord of the Rings trilogy.
Paranoid edible dreams: You wake up sweaty, certain you just committed tax fraud in Montana… despite never having been to Montana.
Too-much-weed-before-bed dreams: They start in a fun place but eventually you’re late for a test you didn’t study for and your pants have been replaced by lasagna noodles.

Holding Grudges From Dreams

I’ve had dreams so real I woke up mad at people for what they did in them. Mary Jane once got two full days of cold shoulder because Dream Mary Jane sold all my guitars to fund a hot air balloon business. She was not impressed by my explanation.

She hit me with: “So… you’re mad at me for something Dream Me did in Dream World?”
And I said: “Yes. Because Dream You knew better.”

The Good Stuff

Every once in a while, you get a dream that sticks with you all day — like you just binged your favorite show and now you’re sad it’s over. You’re flying over a glowing city, Kushie’s in the passenger seat wearing a pilot’s cap, and for a moment there’s no deadlines, no bills, no laundry mountains threatening to form their own zip code. Just freedom.

The problem? You don’t get to pick. Your brain doesn’t send a polite memo:

“Tonight: Romantic beach walk. Tomorrow: Zombie mall chase.”
Nope. It’s a roulette wheel of chaos.

What Scientists Say vs. What I Say

Scientists claim dreams are just random neuron firings.
I say dreams are your subconscious throwing a rager without telling you — the kind of party with twelve bags of chips, three people passed out on beanbags, and one guy engineering a gravity bong out of a peanut butter jar.

They say dreams help you process emotions.
I say dreams help you understand which animals would be your allies in a supermarket apocalypse.

Dream Rules Make No Sense

Running: Your legs become linguine noodles. Top speed = grandma shuffling to the bathroom in slippers.

Fighting: Every punch feels like you’re underwater. I once tried to stop a raccoon from stealing my phone in a dream — it turned into slow-motion interpretive dance. The raccoon won, bowed, and then used my phone to order sushi.

Timing: You’re seconds from the big reveal — the kiss, the treasure, the happy ending — and bam, alarm clock. Dream over. Netflix didn’t even give you the “Next Episode” button.

Weirder Dreams I’ve Had (All True)

I was a contestant on Jeopardy! but every answer was “guacamole.” I still lost.
Kushie opened a food truck that only sold “air sandwiches.” Business was booming.
I lived in a house where every door led to the same bathroom, and there was always a penguin in the tub.
I was at a concert, but the band was just six raccoons playing kazoos in perfect harmony.

The Dream Journal Trap

People swear by dream journals. I’ve tried. Problem is, the second you wake up, the details evaporate like smoke at a windy bonfire. I’ll start scribbling:

“Flying over mountains with talking llamas.”
Two minutes later:
“Something about salsa… or a guy named Sal?”

By the afternoon, I’m staring at my notebook like: “Who is Sal and why is he wet?”

Kushie’s Dream Life

Kushie dreams with her whole soul. She twitches, she barks in her sleep, she’s clearly chasing something — probably a bird, maybe a UPS truck, possibly the concept of pure joy. I like to think her dreams are all golden fields, unlimited snacks, and zero baths.

If she could talk, I’m pretty sure she’d wake up and tell me: “Bud, I just caught the biggest squirrel ever. It gave me its Netflix password.”

The Quiet Ones

Not all dreams are chaos. Some sneak in like little gifts. The other night, I dreamed I was standing on a cliff, ocean stretching out forever, Kushie beside me. Warm breeze, no stress, no IKEA bong. Just peace. I woke up feeling like my brain had paid me in serotonin.

Stoner Philosophy on Dreams

Here’s my theory: Dreams are the trailer for a movie your brain is producing on a budget of zero dollars, starring whoever and whatever it found lying around in your mental storage closet. Sometimes it’s brilliant, sometimes it’s garbage, but either way, admission is free and the snacks are already in the kitchen.

Bud’s Dream Etiquette Tips

Never try to “go back” to a good dream. You’ll end up in a Walmart parking lot being chased by an alligator in a Hawaiian shirt.
Don’t tell people your dream unless it’s funny, short, or involves them in a flattering way.
If you wake up mad at someone because of a dream, give them coffee before explaining. Trust me.

Bud’s Final Puff of Wisdom:
Dreams are your brain’s late-night open mic — some nights it kills, some nights it bombs, and some nights it hands you a vision you didn’t know you needed. So sleep well, dream weird, and if you see me at the floating taco truck? I’ll be the guy ordering in perfect Swedish.