We'll meet you again in a dream. “Why do you dream of a meeting in a dream? If you see a Meeting in a dream, what does it mean? Dream interpretation of a modern woman

He is also abnormal in appearance - the hair on his head on the left is blue, on the right is brown... his own, not dyed.

And so on Monday night he went to bed at home sober - he doesn’t drink. And I woke up drunk in the sobering-up station on Tuesday morning. Asks the duty officer:

- How did I get here?

And the man on duty... He has one green eye, the other red. Red because he drinks a lot. When he blinks them one by one, it looks like a traffic light. Red - green, red - green... But there is no yellow, because he drinks without a break. Some kind of illness.

The duty officer says to his neighbor:

– I don’t remember how I got here.

But he reported to his superiors: so and so, there is a man in the cell in pajamas, no one has been brought in, he is not marked anywhere, the cell has been closed for three days because they lost the keys.

The authorities call Sherlock Holmes... Sergeant. His parents named him Sherlock Holmes after someone. Sherlock Holmes Sergeevich in full. He has forty-eight teeth! All are rotten, not one has ever been sick. They tell him:

- Figure it out.

Sherlock Holmes finds out his address from his neighbor: Thirteenth Street, house thirteen, apartment six hundred and sixty-six - and goes there with an outfit.

They come and ask their wife:

“Your husband didn’t disappear, by any chance?”

My wife is half Russian, half Ukrainian, so funny! It is not clear when he cooks. Speaks:

- If I disappeared even for a day. He's sleeping at home.

Sherlock Holmes enters the bedroom, there is a husband - the head on the left is blue, the head on the right is brown. He'd rather go back into the corridor.

And my wife had a flower in the hallway... like horseradish, only the leaves were like a radish. He dropped it - the pot was in half, the flower had two roots. He stood on them and ran!.. Not Sherlock Holmes, the flower stood on its roots and ran. He runs and squeals: “Drink, drink.”

Sherlock Holmes grabs this radish by the damn thing and holds it. And no one has left him yet, not a single criminal, not a single plant.

Nevermind. Sherlock Holmes, hurry up, go to the sobering station. Comes. There, in the cell, the neighbor - half blue, half brown - shouts:

- Drink, drink!

They ask him:

– Do you have a twin brother?

Sherlock Holmes to his superiors: so and so, neighbor here and there.

The authorities announce:

– Operation “Interception”!.. Take this one, let's go to that one.

Everyone is walking down the street. Near one house they see an intellectual playing Tchaikovsky’s violin!.. Or Chopin. In short, it's worth begging. The hat is on the ground, a nightingale is sitting on the hat, whistling “How good the evenings are in Russia.” Nearby, a cat and a dog... hugged and danced a waltz.

Well, we came where we were going. The husband who was sleeping was woken up, but the one they brought in was not woken up, he was not sleeping.

The wife sees that she now has two husbands, let’s laugh... joyfully. Then he says to one: “Go wash the dishes,” and to the other: “Run to the store.”

And those - closer friend to a friend, closer, and - time! - instead of two, one. Husband and his astral body connected.

Radish flower said:

- Not a damn thing!

But people didn’t say anything, as if that was the way it should be... They forgot how to be surprised. I won’t tell you anything else, no one is surprised at anything.

We like to make a tragedy out of everything: “They’re robbing! They are raping! They are killing! You have to take everything lightly, with humor.

The first time I was run over by a tram, I was indignant: why was the tram launched without a driver?! Then I think: I’m still alive, and thank you for that. And so almost without consequences - I just became confused, sometimes I forget what I’m talking about. So what, huh?.. What were we talking about just now?

Ahh! I remembered it myself. We had one man... or a woman? After the tram I began to confuse them for something... Man, man! He smoked a pipe. He was so humorous! He took everything easy.

So cheerful! One of his eyes was missing; they knocked him out by mistake. And who isn’t making mistakes now?.. At night they met him in an alley, in the wrong alley, they met him wrong... and they didn’t meet him. In general, they made a mistake - they wanted to knock out their brains, but they knocked out an eye.

Who were we talking about?.. Just now... Ahh! I remembered it myself. About one-eyed women.

And this woman took everything lightly, although she did not have a left eye. What am I saying?! There was no left hand, but the right eye. And so she was poisoned by something in the dining room - it’s no one’s fault at all. That's why they exist, canteens.

Wait, it was a man. Why! We washed together in the bathhouse, I remember well that it was a man.

He was so poisoned that his entire tattoo came off and all his hair fell out. The bald man walked.

He just didn’t walk, he rode in a wheelchair, he was missing both legs and one breast.

Ooh! That means he was a woman... But how did I wash with him in the bathhouse?.. That means I’m a woman too!

Yeah, and so she made fun of herself all the time, even of her gaiety. She said: “The humpbacked grave will fix it.” So funny!

She was hunchbacked. She was crossing the street... in underground passage, and still she was hit by a car - the driver was drunk - she became hunchbacked and without legs, without arms, without an eye. But she’s not offended by our life! I wasn’t offended by anyone: not the president, not the government, not the Duma!

I'm lying about everything! It was a man. I remembered, he had a beard like that... Or a woman with a braid?.. Wait... A beard in the front, a braid in the back... It was a man!.. With a braid.

Here's a funny one! He never lost heart!.. Even when the hooligans threw him out of his stroller in winter - for no reason, they were just playing around. They walked by. He doesn't say a word to them! He sits quietly in a snowdrift, shoveling snow out of his ears. They come to him again:

- A-ah! You're shoveling snow out of your ears! You're still unhappy!

And again into the snowdrift, only now naked.

He still crawled home - they didn’t let him into the subway... without a token. It’s good that they didn’t stop me on the street. Now it’s good on the streets - crawl around in whatever you want.

He crawled home - he was already cramped. But he has no complaints against the government, nor the president, nor the Federation Council, nor anyone! Keep it up! It’s as if he’s very pleased with everything, but he doesn’t know who to thank. He has such patience and so much humor!

I crawled into the bathroom, wanted to wash my eyes, suddenly - chick! - not a drop of water, the lights went out and the voice:

- A-ah! You wash your eyes, you are still unhappy!

And it knocked him down. But it was already twisted and turned out to be a screw. The neighbors called an ambulance. And it’s good, he was an experienced doctor, he works three jobs: ear, nose and throat, gynecologist, speech therapist, lice consultant and a great heart transplant surgeon. As soon as he saw him, he immediately said:

– Flat feet.

How did he find out?!.. The same guy has no legs.

Just in case, the doctor gave him an injection... against poisoning, but mixed up the ampoules! I froze it, and it remained a screw forever.

Now he doesn’t know how to thank God. When he approaches the church, the beggars begin to give him food. That's how everyone serves it!

He's now dressed from Zaitsev... where it's crooked. And where it’s skewed is from Yudashkin.

In short!.. What are we talking about now?.. Don’t remember?.. Why don’t you remember anything?

Ahh! I remembered it myself. The main thing is not to resist, not to be indignant, not to push, but to treat everything with humor, lightly, then you will definitely benefit, and maybe even survive.

I turned twenty-five today. This morning I received a letter without a return address.

“Hello, dear grandfather. Congratulations on your birthday".

Some son of a bitch was acting up.

“Your grandson Kolya is writing to you. Today I am also twenty-five years old.”

That is, excuse me, it was not written by a son of a bitch, but by some idiot.

“Grandfather, I have purulent appendicitis. The doctor said: “If you don’t remove it after half an hour, then you don’t have to remove it anymore.” But he can delete it if you give him money. I don't have any money. It’s good, dear grandfather, that you live nearby. I sent a friend to you with a note asking you to give him money for the operation.”

I was about to throw away the idiot’s letter, but the next phrase stopped me.

I used to think that the happiest creatures in the world were spiders. Those who live well, I thought, don’t need to study, don’t need to be treated, don’t need to work, don’t need to have teeth filled. Sit in a secluded place and philosophize, and watch to see if careless prey flies into your snares. But later I learned that spiders have many natural enemies in nature, and I had some doubts. Of course, it’s nice to be a spider in the house of a lonely bachelor, an alcoholic, where you won’t be overtaken by the broom of a clean housewife, but it’s somehow boring to always be indoors, without seeing the gentle sun above your head. This possibility exists among cross spiders, which, moreover, have few natural enemies. But it is a great misfortune to be born a male cross spider! As you know, the female of this spider, after fertilization, eats her husband, getting even for all the women in the world. However, spiders are bad at foreseeing future dangers and do not become depressed because of them, which we cannot say about people.

I also like the carefree, free life of monkeys, in conditions where they have no natural enemies, for example, in well-equipped zoos. This is where you can live to your heart's content! Eat, drink, commit adultery with relatives of the opposite sex, somersault, jump from branch to branch, learn the world– no restrictions! I note that, unlike philosophers - spiders, monkeys are more like scientists - they like to look at various items, feel, smell them. ABOUT tomorrow monkeys do not need to think; this responsibility lies with cute two-legged creatures, obviously close relatives of monkeys. They will feed you, they will give you water, they will clean up the area. Eh, what can I say! It's good to be a monkey!

I foresee objections here too. People will ask me: isn’t the life of spiders and monkeys primitive, poor in various pleasures and impressions, okay known to man? I will answer this question this way: yes it is, so what? Animals know nothing about human pleasures and therefore do not suffer at all from their absence, but they do not know the numerous sufferings that are well known to people.

Great philosophers have long drawn attention to the fact that our suffering is much stronger than our pleasures and is in no way compensated by them. And it is precisely those people who suffer most in life who are more capable of various pleasures than others. Let us remember, for example, Jean-Jacques Rousseau, probably the most emotional and sensitive person of all times. An esthete in a square, in a cube, all his life enjoying the beauties of nature, books, music, chess, communication with wonderful people and many others, Jean Jacques constantly suffered from depression, from all kinds of fears, and it was no coincidence that he wrote in “Confession” that he forgives his wet nurse, who took care of him in childhood. “Trifles” poisoned Rousseau’s life, growing in his imagination to incredible proportions. Yes! This is the price of a strong imagination, which lies at the basis of intellectual and aesthetic development.

Many thinkers have spoken and written about the predominance of suffering in human life, meaning, first of all, themselves. “Happiness is a dream, only suffering is real,” wrote F. Voltaire, and his great admirer A. Schopenhauer brilliantly substantiated this idea in his work “On the Nothingness and Sorrows of Life.” I don’t think, however, that Voltaire or Schopenhauer would have agreed to be born monkeys (although, who knows?), but the latter would hardly have agreed to be born humans.

But maybe there is some kind of golden mean and it is best to be a person, but an emotionally and intellectually limited person? This was the opinion of Prince Andrei Bolkonsky (and with him, probably, the young Leo Tolstoy) who told Pierre Bezukhov:

“...you want to bring him out,” he said, pointing to a man who took off his hat and walked past them, “out of his animal state and give him moral needs. But it seems to me that the only possible happiness is animal happiness, and you want to deprive it of it. I envy him, and you want to make him me, without giving him my mind, my feelings, or my means.”

And indeed, isn’t it best to be a healthy, strong, energetic person, capable of working in any job? handmade, and be content with food, alcohol, sex and primitive entertainment? I have met many such people in my life. I remember one of my friends, a mechanic, whose face never left a wide smile. Ha-ha, hee-hee - constantly sounded from his lips. While lifting some heavy mechanism, this mechanic earned himself a hernia and went to work with a smile. surgery. The careless surgeon forgot and sewed up a piece of gauze in my friend’s stomach, after which the operation had to be repeated, but nothing could shake his optimism. Having been assigned to light work and returning to the plant, the optimistic mechanic returned to his usual hobbies - dominoes and moonshine, to the delight of his friends, partners and drinking companions. And no matter how many times I have met such people in my life, who managed perfectly well without the masterpieces of Mozart and Chopin, Raphael and Levitan, Dostoevsky and M. Bulgakov, they all felt great, unlike reflective intellectuals concerned about their state of mind.

But, alas, it’s not always like that simple people are happy. Life doesn't love you at all happy people and knows how to find a key for everyone. Wars, revolutions, natural disasters, one’s own illnesses and illnesses of loved ones, poverty, unexpected betrayals and losses - these and other disasters can make even people inclined to basic life unhappy. A.P. Chekhov wrote about this well:

“Even if you want animal happiness, then life will still not allow you to get drunk and be happy, and every now and then it will stun you with blows.”

And this is truly so!

They will tell me: but life is not created for animal, carnal happiness, but there, “in heaven,” a reward for our suffering awaits us. Yes, of course, it awaits us under certain conditions, but who is stopping us from fulfilling these conditions?

Agree! If we have the opportunity to slip into “heaven” by hook or by crook, then the happiest beings are those who have the best chance of realizing this opportunity. In this case, it is preferable to be human and animal happiness is of little value. If, after the death of the body, our personality completely disappears, dissolves in superpersonal consciousness, then being a spider or a monkey in earthly life, in my opinion, is preferable to being a human. In this case human life in general represents mockery and ridicule - we are always chasing the ghost of happiness, dreaming, hoping, being disappointed, loving, suffering, caring for loved ones, wishing for them and ourselves eternal life and, as a result, we turn into nothing. Things are even worse if there is a “hell” and we are in danger of going there. But such a danger exists, exists, and for most of us it is more real than achieving heaven. And who would it be preferable to be, given this possibility, a human or an animal? The answer that suggests itself to me is the following - while we do not know our posthumous fate, we cannot think and imagine it, or answer the question: “Who is the happiest in the world?” very difficult if possible. It's impossible for me.