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Shortly before my old Grandad died he spent a while completely doolally with dementia. He spent much of the time trapped in memories of previous times. Once he got distressed because he was convinced he was late for work. He was nearly 90 but thought he was in his 30s. At the time I was in my 30s.A thought occurred to me at that point. How could I know that I wasn't the one who was 90 trapped in a memory of visiting my Grandad as a young man? Would I 'wake up' shortly to find that I was sitting in a geriatric home and I had just wet myself while fat nurses talked at me in loud and condescending tones? Any one of us could wake up in a moment to find our lives have been stolen and we are on the verge of death.I like to spread a little cheer.
I know that I'm not dreaming now because I'm not being chased by a giant carrot who wants to have my children, who subsequently turns into a large piece of cake and is then eaten by a large yeti type monster who is wearing my pants on his head.Little things like that, you know?