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 he sprinted across a grassy field.  Holding on for dear life, I looked up into the night sky and thought about how important it was to remember this moment because someday I would be 40-years old and all washed up.

I turn forty in three months.

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.

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

Am I really that boring?