Lucid Dreaming

Last night was very tiring. Or at least, the dreaming part of it. It was a rather 1970s or 1980s kind of episode, with rather Cold War-ish undertones and overtones. Everything was in steel blue and rust red and long featureless grey corridors.

To begin with, I was looking for a document purportedly signed by Tun Dr Mahathir bin Mohamad, the 4th Prime Minister of Malaysia. In that document, he had said something rather awful during his days in Cambridge. (In real life, as far as I know, he was educated as a doctor in Singapore.) The whole balance of power in Southeast Asia was at stake.

Working with me was a fellow named Igor Kuznetsov. I don't know where I got that name from, but he's an historian, a sportsman or a doctor in real life. There are lots of people with that name, apparently.

Igor was a bit of a mad driver; we used a right-hand-drive American car of the big boxy kind that used to get beat up in action movies until they switched to blowing up Lamborghinis. The whole dream was spent running around chasing down this document which would have plunged the world into satellite warfare (or something equally apocalyptic).

There were bombs (and explosions), mortar rounds, car chases, big red buttons and glowing lights, computers, mayhem and a lot of spilt and flaming oil. The final scene had Dr Mahathir putting a garland around our (rather scorched) necks and congratulating us on preventing world domination by the Singapore Examination and Assessment Board.

I woke up rather amused. It's not often I dream and remember it; it's even rarer that my dreams are like action movies.