You know how sometimes a scene plays out in your dreams, something that you couldn’t possibly know when you’re awake, and then two days later, that very thing happens in real life?

It just happened to me, more or less. It was astounding.

The other night, after eating most of a pepperoni pizza, I fell asleep or passed out or something, and had this amazing dream.

The details were quite specific. My friend from Triflestein had been admitted to the Southboardman General Hospital in Southampton, New Jersey. The dream gave precise directions to Southampton, and seconds later — it being a dream — I was there, standing outside that very hospital.

When I woke up, I was stupefied. You may not believe this, but New Jersey actually exists! Even though I’ve never been there, I found it on a map. It’s fascinating how the unconscious mind knows these things.

Southampton exists, too — just not in New Jersey. It’s in New York.

I was bewildered. My subconscious mind nailed the first word of the state’s name and almost pinpointed the exact location, missing by only 100 miles or so. A hundred miles is nothing in a dream. You can travel 100 miles in 30 seconds, dream time.

In the same amount of dream time, you could travel to that other Southampton, the one in England.

(Yes, there’s one there, too! I checked. It’s absolutely real. The subconscious mind continues to astound me. How could it possibly know there was a Southampton nearly 3,700 miles away, too? Amazing.)

I still haven’t tracked down the Southboardman General Hospital. I’m sure it’s out there somewhere. Why would my dream — so truthful in minute details — lie about that?

Also, I’m having difficulty locating Triflestein. If the dream was trying to tell me that my friend there is in trouble and I need to rescue him, he’s in trouble.

The solution, of course — and you can’t make this stuff up — is that the friend, like Triflestein, doesn’t exist. In real life, I have lots of nonexistent and imaginary friends, so the dream got that part right, too. This is beyond unbelievable. The accuracy simply stuns the mind.

But it’s not all astonishment and dumbfoundedness. Dreams have been driving me crazy lately.

It’s like what the great philosopher Steven Wright said when asked if he slept well: “No, I made a couple of mistakes.”

The other day, I dragged myself home from work, exhausted from another exhausting day of tapping a keyboard from a padded chair in the air-conditioned office, and zonked out in my chair. I was gone. Out for the duration.

Somewhere during the night, a dream friend — possibly from Triflestein — offered me a chocolate milkshake. You know how delicious those Triflestein chocolate milkshakes are. My taste buds danced, shouted and rioted in anticipation.

Just as I reached for the milkshake, I awoke.

Anger swept over me. My mouth watered for that milkshake, but it was only a dream.

While I quietly threw books, lamps and end tables across the room, I noticed that it was light outside. I checked the time — 8:01! My alarm failed to ring! The sun was up, I’d slept the whole night in my chair, my alarm failed — and I didn’t get a milkshake.

This infuriated me so much that instead of heading to the shower, I fell back asleep. No good. I could not find that chocolate milkshake in any corner of my dreams. I think it had slipped away to Southampton, but which one? England, New York or New Jersey? Is there a Southampton in Minnesota, maybe?

Before I could visit any of those places, I started awake again. Now it was 9:37. I was horribly late for work. The sky had become so overcast that it looked like it was nighttime.

Unless…

I double-checked the clock. P.M.! I hadn’t slept the night through. I’d only dozed a few minutes, and, thanks to dreams, it felt like 10 hours had crawled by.

Worse, I realized that had I got up at 8:01, I could have made it to town before the milkshake stand closed at 9.

I reached for my phone to call my buddy in Triflestein to see if he’d been released from the hospital yet. I’d punched five numbers before my dream memories ran out. I couldn’t come up with the rest of the digits. Poof. Gone like the milkshake.

Dreams are amazing things. They know what you don’t. Worse, they aren’t telling.

Dream a little dream with Cole at burton.w.cole@gmail.com or the Burton W. Cole page on Facebook.