Recently, I've been having nightmares. Nightly. Which wake me up at 5am, in a sweat. They're the kind of dreams that make you get up and go and stick the kettle on, staring out the window as you wait for it to boil, willing your brain to stop whirring with whatever hideous thoughts were in it – the thoughts that jarred you awake.
The past few times this has happened, while staring out of the window, I've found myself marvelling about the fact that I am never deaf in my dreams.
I've blogged about this before. I've blogged about the fact that I can hear whispers, shouts, people talking to me without me being able to see their lips. I've blogged about the marvel that in my dreams I am a hearing person, even though really, I have no idea what it's like to be a hearing person.
Sure, I have a memory of what it's like to be less deaf, but it's definitely not the same as being hearing.
In the most recent nightmare I had, involving someone I really really don't like, a phone rang and it was for me. I took the call. I had a phone conversation. I can't remember what it was about, but that doesn't really matter, because when the phone conversation was over, I took the phone and threw it down the stairs before running down after it and smashing it to a pulp.
Maybe I'm not that hearing in my dreams after all...