In my dreams, I'm not myself. I might be anyone or anything. Sometimes, I'm merely an observer. Other times, I'm a central character. The houses normally don't follow Euclidian geometry. The cars tend to be more like configurable houses that end up where I wanted to go. The becan is always crisp, flavourful, and in abundant supply. People, animals, aliens, and doorknobs tend to be larger than life. Life, on the other hand, seems to remain life-sized.
The music is always funkier and heavier than in reality. Usually, things tend to be my fault. Colours are flourescent and vibrant. The injuries are debilitating and the weapons are more devastating. Actions have consequences that extend beyond the grave. As a result, I frequently do not live until the end. In the aftermath, those who survive me are usually left to complain about the mess.
I normally regret waking up...