Or should I say nightmare in the snow?

Summer has just started. The sun is blazing, the cicadas are doing their best death-metal impression outside, and my weather app is screaming “Feels like 38°C!” in passive-aggressive red. You’d think my subconscious would be sunbathing on a beach somewhere, sipping mojitos with sunglasses on. But no.

Last night, I found myself back in the Alpine troops, trekking through frozen snow at the crack of dawn. Yes, snow. Yes, dawn. Yes, me. Voluntarily, it seems. I woke up shivering under my very warm duvet, utterly confused and mildly annoyed. It was so real I nearly reached for my thermal underwear.

Naturally, I attempted to recreate the frosty madness of my dream with the help of AI. The result? A hauntingly accurate visual of what I’d call “Chilling PTSD: The Prequel.” I’ve included the image below so you can join me in processing whatever my brain is going through.

Now, usually I can trace the root cause of a dream. A documentary, a conversation, a random YouTube rabbit hole about ice hotels in Sweden. But this one? Nada. I had not spoken of snow, seen snow, nor even thought of the Alps recently.

But wait — a clue! Before bed, I had a little vodka nightcap. Just one. Smooth, icy, and Russian. And that, dear readers, may be the culprit. Because if there’s anything my brain does well, it’s taking a casual sip of alcohol and turning it into a full-blown Siberian survival exercise.

So to sum up: it’s 38 degrees outside, I’ve mentally been to the North Pole, and apparently, vodka doesn’t just give you dreams — it gives you frostbite.

Lesson learned?

Maybe.

Will I skip tonight’s drink?

…Unlikely.

But I’ll keep a snow shovel by the bed. Just in case.

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