Last night I dreamt that I had been shot in the head and had died. That’s where the dream began — with being shot in the head and realizing that I had been shot in the head and that as a result I was dead. This was terrifying until I realized that I couldn’t have been shot in the head and therefore couldn’t be dead, because my brain, had it been shot, wouldn’t have been capable of forming the thought that I was dead. A functioning brain is proof of life, I thought. This calmed me and soon I awoke.
Then, needing to pee, I walked to the bathroom, and while sitting on the toilet I felt my head to make sure there weren’t any bullet holes. There weren’t any; my head was holeless.
Ah, one other thing: when I realized, mistakenly, that I was dead, my first thought was, “Now I don’t have any problems.” This was neither a joyful thought, nor a sad one; it was just a statement of fact. Only the living have problems.