The other day, I posted a tribute to the late George Wendt, who was best known for his years of acting in the role of the lovable Norm Peterson on the TV sitcom Cheers. I wrote that, just a few days earlier, I had begun streaming the early episodes of the show, which had been one of my favorites back in the ‘80s, and I was struck by the coincidence in timing. But was it precognition on my part? No . . . of course, it wasn’t.

Or was it? I’m now beginning to wonder, because last night — one of those nights filled with multiple, disconnected, weird dreams that somehow remain disturbingly clear long after you’re awake — one of my dreams involved a psycho serial killer who, whenever he heard the name of the ex-girlfriend who had dumped him, had an uncontrollable compulsion to murder someone. His weapon of choice: a very large, Crocodile Dundee-type of knife. In my dream, I even saw him chase down, slaughter and debone a bicyclist. I then ran and ran through this strange city until I found a couple of police officers, and the knife-wielding lunatic was subsequently apprehended. All’s well that ends well . . . right?

But that’s not the strange part. Around noon today, I received one of those frequent news flashes on my phone. This one read: “Twelve injured in Hamburg knife attack as woman arrested.” [Sofia Ferreira Santos, BBC, May 23, 2025.]

Now, that’s just too spooky!

There are differences, of course. In my dream, the killer was a man, not a woman. But in today’s inclusive, LGBTQ+ environment, that hardly matters.

The main distinction was that, in my dream, the police officers I approached were speaking Russian, not German. That, of course, was weird enough; but at least I really do speak Russian. It would have been even stranger if I’d been conversing with them in German, since I only know about a dozen words in that language, including ja, nein, bitte, danke, and the ever-popular and oh-so-useful dummkopf and schweinhund. With that limited vocabulary, I would have been hard pressed to describe a homicidal maniac with a huge knife chopping up a guy on a bike, much less give them directions to the scene of the grisly crime. Imagine running up to a couple of cops, obviously distraught, and shouting, “Yes, no, please, thank you, stupid pigdog.”

That would not have ended well.

*. *. *

But, aside from the psychological implications of my nightly nightmares, I’m beginning to have some concerns as to whether I might actually be foreseeing upcoming events. Real life has become scary enough without knowing in advance, for example, what Elon Musk is going to come up with next.

I can’t imagine what a psychoanalyst would have to say about my nocturnal adventures, and I’m not sure I want to know. But tonight, I plan to try thinking happy thoughts before I fall asleep, in the hope that that they’ll find their way into my dreams.

Perhaps I’ll start by conjuring up a whole new administration in Washington . . . much like the one from The West Wing . . . and work my way up to an end to war. By next week, I should have solved all of the world’s problems.

You can thank me later.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
5/23/25