Depressing and monotonous in bed

Last night’s dreams included:

  1. A dream in which I was back in high school, riding on the shoulders of my best friend as we sprinted across a grassy field. Holding on for dear life, I looked up into the night sky and thought about how important it would be to remember this moment because someday I would be 40-years old and all washed up.
  2. A dream in which the truck I was driving needed gas. I stopped at a gas station, swiped my credit card and watched the digital indicators on the gas pump flash as 30 gallons of gas were pumped into the tank.

Did you get that? I spent a portion of last night watching the numbers change on a gas pump. In real time.

As a novelist, is this really the most creative use of my unconscious mind?

Am I really that boring?