Dreaming Considered

Deep Dreaming:

You stand there, knowing exactly what to do.  Raising your right elbow and cupping your right fist with your left hand, smash goes the thin emergency glass.  You reach for the tube of Crest Tartar-Control toothpaste, a few more clinging shards smacked away and you yank it free aiming it towards your pursuers.  You're squinting, fearing the recoil of the break-in-case-of-emergency-Crest-Tartar-Control-toothpaste, you squeeze it forth and it becomes a wheelchair of machine guns mounted forward and backwards over leather covered foam armrests.  Fifty cal, belts of nickel-wide hollow points spiral inwards along the spokes.  It is an old-timey 80s wheelchair, perfectly rounded wheels sitting upon a less-than-padded seat back tracking up to contoured 90 degree handles, weaponry all the live-long-way.  The politely aggressive aliens slide to a sudden halt and stare fearfully.  You sit down and use that chair like it was made to be used, the aliens' giant green foreheads and swollen googly eyes explode into gory vengeance.

Shallow Dreaming:

Something is chasing you, you're not sure of what it is so you call forth.  As you call forth your voice cracks and gives out, your now two dead legs and arms see you crashing down with an open mouth.  SMACK!  Your head basketballs off of concrete and grit sticks to chapped lips, serious pain takes over.  You can't tell but you think you're crying.  Vision gone and memories of two hours ago.  Silence, cat purr, you wake up sweating.

No Dreaming:

You drink a grip of beer, followed by caffeine free tea (steeped, mixed with honey, iced) plus gin and two ice cubes, rock a few hits of goofer, then one more scotch.