7 Reasons

Tag: dreams

  • 7 Reasons That a Dream Bath is Better Than an Actual Bath

    7 Reasons That a Dream Bath is Better Than an Actual Bath

    Hello 7 Reasons readers!  I have a confession to make.  I love baths, but it turns out that for years I’ve been bathing wrong.  I know this because this morning I had an epiphany (or should that be a baptism as I’m writing about baths).  I woke up, having dreamt that I’d had a bath, and that dream bath was better than an actual bath.  Here are seven reasons why.

    Fortunately not my bath.

    1.  It Saved Time. The major problem with taking a bath – and the reason that most people end up settling for showers – is the amount of time it takes.  It takes time to fill them up and you tend to spend a lot of time in them.  This takes a substantial chunk out of the day.  Dream baths, however, are different.  You can spend hours in a dream bath and it’ll only take seconds out of your life.  That’s time that you would have been using to sleep anyway.  It’s like being given the gift of time but there’s no wrapping paper to recycle, which saves further time.  It probably makes time.

    2.  It Was The Right Temperature.  My dream bath was the correct temperature, which is approximately halfway between “Ooh!  Ooh!  Ooh!  Ooh!  Ooh!” and “Gah!”  Actual baths are always intemperate and usually end up turning that initial cautious toe either red or blue.  Or brown, if the bath hasn’t been cleaned.

    3.  I Was Able To Share It.  Sharing an actual bath is seldom the dreamy, romantic pastime it is popularly portrayed as.  When sharing a dream bath though, your eyes will already be closed so you can share it with absolutely anyone.  I shared mine with my wife who was a reluctant and water-shy cat named Marmalade.  Eventually she settled down and enjoyed the bath, right up until the moment that she morphed into a roof-tile and sank without trace at the tap-end, forcing me to eat the rest of the yoghurt alone.

    4.  Finding The Soap.  In your actual bath, you’ll probably find that you spend approximately 8.4% of your time trying to find the soap that you’ve just dropped (which is not as surprising an experience as trying to find it when in prison, but it is still rather an irksome chore).  In the dream bath, however, there’s always soap, probably from Lush.  And you can bathe safe in the knowledge that it will never, ever have a pubic hair stuck to it.  Unless, of course, that’s what you dream about, in which case you’re making my dreams seem positively conventional.  And you should never sleep again.

    5.  No Interruption.  My dream bath – unlike my actual baths – wasn’t interrupted by anyone knocking on the bathroom door asking to use the toilet.  It was interrupted by a pelican asking for directions to Mr Bobble’s House of Wobbles, but I got rid of him simply by clapping my hands together and shouting “Muffins!”  He was far easier to deal with than the desperate and persistent aspiring toilet-users that blight actual baths.  Sometimes it seems that pregnant women want to pee just to spite you, and during a long bath, when you’re sharing a house with a pregnant lady, you can find yourself being spited several times.  Then that finishes and for the next eighteen years you’ll have a child that will interrupt you in the bath.  In my dream bath that did not happen.  Obviously, my sleep was interrupted by the child, but that’s a slightly different thing.  Probably.

    6.  No Cleaning.  Unlike your actual bath, you’ll never have to clean your dream bath – unless you actually dream about cleaning baths, in which case, thank you, mine was spotless when I got in and I really enjoyed the scented candles and the petals floating on the surface.  The meticulously constructed wigwam of bath-towels might have been a step too far though, but you won’t find me complaining.  Not least because I can hide in the wigwam while I’m doing so.  For other people that don’t clean baths in their sleep, the good news is you won’t have to clean the bath in your sleep.  That’s good news.

    7.  Wake Refreshed And Ready.  Nothing prepares you for your day like a dream bath because – like nothing – having a dream bath is not actually having a bath.  You will, however, wake feeling refreshed, invigorated and ready for your day; I know I did.  You’ll have to spend a large part of that day dodging mirrors and people with a sense of smell, but surely that’s a small price to pay for the amazing time saving and great start to the day.  And how close do you really want people to stand to you anyway?  With a dream bath, you can keep them at armpit’s length.  It’s all win.

  • 7 Reasons Reccurring Dreams Are Annoying

    7 Reasons Reccurring Dreams Are Annoying

    I had a dream last night. And the other week. And last month. And the month before that. It’s getting boring now. Annoying even.

    Dreams are like rainbows. Only idiots chase them.

    1.  Repetition. As one may have established a reccurring dream is one that happens time after time after time. I suffer with one. It’s about me, back at school or university, with an impending deadline. The problem is, I haven’t even started doing my work. The scenario usually means I have twenty-four hours to write a dissertation. As dreams go, it is rubbish. I’d be annoyed if it happened once in a year, but to have it once every couple of weeks is just plain tiresome.

    2.  Panic. Despite the fact that it is a dream, I can’t help but get in panic. Though it’s an odd panic. In my dream I am not panicking. Which annoys me for starters, but it’s not half as annoying as the panic I feel in the sleeping me. As if I am watching my dream from above yet I am unable to control any of my actions. I want myself to panic, in much the same way as I want England to play good football. The more I want it though, the more I seem to laugh about the situation. In much the same way as the more I want England to play good football, the more Emile Heskey touches the ball.

    3.  Logic. Or should that be the lack of it. In last nights dream I appeared to be less interested in getting to the library to do my work and instead was solely focused on returning the ‘Automatic Putting Device’ to its home in the shed. No, I have no idea what an ‘Automatic Putting Device’ is either. Nor why it lives in a shed. In real-life I would like to think I would question such a thing, but in my dream state it was as natural to me as scratching my armpit.

    4.  Meaning. What does a reccurring dream about not doing your coursework mean? It’s not as if when I was at school or university I didn’t do my work and get it in on time. Well, not often anyway. So it’s not as if I am re-living my younger days and it’s not a metaphor for my attitude today. If I don’t have any work I can hardly hand it in late can I? It’s baffling.

    5.  People. None of my friends or family ever appear in my reccurring dreams, which seems somewhat ironic seeing as they are the reccurring characters in my life. Instead, I end up being friends with someone from school or university who I have never been friends with in my life. That’s not to say I disliked them, we just didn’t hang around together. In my dream though, we seem to do nothing but hang around together. Hang around together not doing our coursework and taking Automatic Putting Devices to sheds. Hardly the stuff of legend.

    6. Realisation. That moment when I wake up and realise it was all a dream. Again. I curse myself for being unable to dream about something more interesting. Cricket or tea or an opossum. And then I curse myself for not realising during the dream that I was dreaming. Why can’t I just recognise that I have been here before? Why can’t I wake myself up, turn over and think about Dame Edna Everage talking to her opossums? Why? Why can’t I?

    7. Resentment. They say the grass is always greener on the other side. Sometimes, this is ridiculously wide of the mark, but when it comes to me and my dreams, it is as true as the existence of you and me. If there is ever a conversation about dreams, I try and avoid it. I don’t want to listen to their tales of heroism and joviality. I get jealous. Why them? Why not me? Even more frustrating is when I am asked if I had a dream. I can only describe the feeling as one of loneliness and inadequacy. And it keeps me annoyed for the rest of the day.

  • 7 Reasons You Shouldn’t Share a Bed With Me

    7 Reasons You Shouldn’t Share a Bed With Me

    The 7 Reasons Sofa with a big, red arrow

    Hi, I’m Marc.  I’m half of the 7 Reasons team – the one with the feet.  Some of you probably imagine that after a long day on the 7 Reasons sofa, in the manner of Laurel and Hardy or Morecambe and Wise, Jon and I put on our jim-jams and nightcaps and retire to the 7 Reasons bed for some hard-earned slumber.  This is not true, please un-think it.  The reality is, in fact, more bizarre than that.

    I would just like to make it clear that today’s 7 Reasons post is not 7 reasons that you shouldn’t share a bed with our website, and it isn’t 7 reasons that you shouldn’t share a bed with Jon (you’ll probably have your own reasons for that), it’s 7 Reasons that you shouldn’t share a bed with me – sorry if that upsets any plans.

    Red and white image of an insomniac man with alarm clock

    1.  Reading.  I read in bed.  My bedtime reading matter of choice is often a large, heavy, hardback biography or a similarly weighty historical tome.  Consequently, holding a book tires my arms – especially when I’m fidgeting (I do a lot of fidgeting) between positions.  At some point I will use the nearest person as a book-rest – their head is the most practical place to rest my book as it is at my eye-level.  I’m told that this is annoying.

    2.  Decapitation.  I like to have two pillows to myself – one placed on top of the other.  In my struggle to get comfortable/block out sound/block out light/keep my head warm/move into the night’s eighty-third position, I often place my head between the pillows.  I find this position comfortable.  If you wake up sharing a bed with me, you will briefly believe that you are sharing the bed with a headless man.  This will startle you.  Every time.

    3.  Radio.  I listen to the radio in bed – BBC Radio 5Live’s Up All Night programme – it keeps me informed, educated and entertained while I am failing to sleep.  This is fine until 2:40am on Wednesdays.  That’s when Cash Peters is on.  That’s when the sound of my (poorly) stifled laughter will wake you up.  You will probably wonder why tears are streaming down my face; you’re likely to wonder why I’m biting the duvet (this is for your benefit, you’re welcome); you may wonder if I’m having a funny turn; you will definitely wonder if the spare bed is unoccupied.

    4.  Soft toys.  If I should find a cuddly-toy in, or even near, the bed, I feel compelled to tuck it in.  If you are not expecting to wake up flanked by a slumbering bear, a recumbent penguin, a sleepy elephant or a dozing handbag (I get confused in the dark), it can be quite disconcerting.

    5.  Curling.  Not everything I do in bed is annoying.  I often curl up into a tiny ball under the covers.  This hampers my breathing somewhat, so I fashion myself a small air-hole in the side of the duvet and poke my nose out through it.  This, I am told, is one of the cutest things in the world.  And it probably is, right up until you try to move my painstakingly-positioned sheets.  Then you’ll find yourself involved in a life-and-death tussle for control of the duvet.  And I always win.

    6.  Experimentation.  During the night many important questions will pop into my head, prompting me to experiment on the nearest sleeping person.  What if I poke my finger in her ear?  What if I blow in her eye?  What if I drip water on her forehead?  What if I tie her hair to the headboard and shout “Boo!?”  What if I loudly mimic her breathing pattern for several minutes then stop abruptly?  What if I coo like a pigeon and flap the top of the duvet around?  The possibilities are limitless.

    7.  Sleep.  Eventually, I will wear myself out and fall asleep.  Don’t think that’s where the fun ends though.  It’s then that I think up entire 7 Reasons posts that make no sense at all and get chased around the house by a horse.  As I flee the dream-horse my legs will flail and I may emit noises – I might even say, “Crikey, a horse!” again.  I have also been observed barking like a dog and trying to dig a hole in the mattress with my front paws…er…hands.  I meant hands.  By this stage, you may not know what time it is, but you’ll probably decide that it’s time to get up, which is great as I’d love a coffee.