As established at some length in the previous post, I had a day full of incident and moment yesterday.
I could also mention the fact that I am currently studying Dmitri Shostakovich and reading the Master and Margarita by Bulgakov. We can therefore add a range of Russian and Jewish influences into the contents of my subconscious.
With all these elements percolating around my noggin, I might have anticipated some stimulating dreams last night. I suppose such dreams may have occurred, but the only dream I could remember this morning was about jam making. Jam making!? We’re not talking music here, we are talking fruit conserves and, in particular, plum jam.
I hadn’t eaten jam in at least 48 hours, made any in 20 years and plums aren’t even in season for another two months. What is my subconscious playing at? My life may not be that exciting, but you’d think my subconscious could try a bit harder – especially given all the material I’d been plying it with. I can only hope that jam making has some deep Freudian meaning of which I am unaware (though I fear jam is more Clement than Sigmund).
Or maybe I should just face up to the fact that I am now so unutterably dull that even my dreams are boring.