Dreams, Reality, which?

Why is that, when I dream in glorious prose and stunning colors,
with oh so delectable but wild details of all sorts...;-), I always wake up just before A big moment.
Always.

And why can I not write those dreams into edge-on-seat, nail biting, mesmerizing stories?
I am not asking for THE novel of a life time.
Just the power to write as fancifully as the dreams. Write to spell bind.
To grab readers, let them travel with me into wondrous worlds.
Worlds, where love is writ large, and not only platonic :-)!
Where revenge IS sweet!
But  forgiving comes easy!
Where history mingles with science and the result's 'out of this world' (LoL)
Where phantasy and reality come together, 'sending'  the readers into orbits of delight.
Alas, that kind of realization must be.. a figment of MY dreams.
Into which others are unable to enter but which I enjoy immensly while dreaming.
Of which - big sigh - little remains with me, after waking!

Siegmund Freud might have been starved for material for his interpretation of dreams had  I been a patient.

Or perhaps not, he did say:

"What a distressing contrast there is between the radiant intelligence of the child and the feeble mentality of the average adult".

But he also said:

"Dreams are often most profound when they seem the most crazy"

AMEN to that