Two dreams.

I've had two dreams recently about the destruction of the world. Usually I don't have nightmares like that, and so I think I can safely say that anxiety about terrorist attacks has influenced my nightlife.

A week or so ago, I dreamt that aliens were going to kill us all or subjugate us, and that they were sending us insidious subliminal messages in artifacts and videos that people watched en masse. At one point, I despaired and thought, "I wish this were a dream," but dismissed it as wishful thinking. (Just after that, a girl and I flew for a bit, under our own power, but this didn't seem too unusual.) I didn't get to see whether the aliens succeeded.

Last night, my dream started out confusing and film-noirish. I was dating someone whom the police were tracking, and agents stodd right outside my bedroom door. But the clear, clear part borrowed from Speed, Big Trouble (the Dave Barry novel), and recent attacks. I carried a duffel bag down an escalator, and if it got to the bottom of the escalator with me, it would explode. My sister and someone else fought me and tried to take away the bomb, but I wanted to destroy, I know not why, and I fought back and got to the bottom of the escalator with the bag, which, now that I think about it, reminds me of Leonard's shoulder bag.

I knew as soon as I saw a flash of light that the bomb had gone off and now it would destroy the entire universe. In one long moment I could see a blue wind and all around me the faces of all the people I had just consigned to oblivion. And I hoped with all my might, hopelessly, that it was a dream, and I felt tremendous sorrow at the infinite loss that I had caused. I had completely destroyed all the precious potential that had ever existed, and it would never return.

Then, I fuzzily remember, I played a large-scale SimAnt game while talking with comedian and actor Paul Reiser. As in The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, the middle was more powerful than the beginning or end. Possibly the most powerful dream I've ever had.