The only part of my life in which I am particularly active is in dreams. I have a busy little brain during the night and often remember the gist in the morning. But even when I don’t recall the specific subject, I often awake with the emotion locked in place.

The first sense of the day may be one of failure or loss or joy or anger. Long after I figure out the why (“Oh piffle, I was just dreaming again”), that emotion floats along with me through the morning before it abates on some timetable of its own.

As a young child, I was known as moody by my parents. Mom took me to a child psychologist once to ask about it. They heard a commotion in the lobby and came out to see what was happening. I had all the toys and was kicking at the other children. I realize now it must have been a morning appointment, and I was still under the spell of a dream, probably about being a politician.

I’m pleased to say that my mornings are more joyful these days than sorrowful. I hope that is true for you. That’s assuming you, too, are a victim of the aftermath of dreams.