Good dreams are like colorful soap bubbles in the brain: They float briefly through your head, glitter for a moment—and burst as soon as the alarm goes off.

They are unimportant because they have no tax relevance, don't pay bills, don't solve problems, and don't deliver pizza. They aren't real, don't influence the course of the world, and you can't even archive them in a meaningful way. Nobody wakes up and says, "Finally! I did it, I was king of the flying whales!"

But they are fun because they allow the mind to act silly without anyone complaining. No logic, no obligation, just you, a giant cactus dancing techno in Antarctica. Dreams are like a free improv theater show in your head, where you are the star, the director, and the only spectator—all at the same time.

Conclusion:
Good dreams are like gummy bears in your mind's eye. No nutritional value, but colorful, sweet—and better than nothing.