Sometimes, I Dream

And sometimes I dream I die.

Like last night.  I dreamed I didn't die, but I almost did.  Or maybe I did.  I'm not entirely sure of the outcome of the dream.  I woke up and it was fuzzy around the edges.

What freaks me out about dying in my dreams is that it's almost always nice.  There's always a pleasant element to the dream, almost a surreal feel about it.  Most of the time, when I die in dreams, it's by some freak accident of sorts.  So what does this mean?  Is it like my subconcious trying to start over fresh?  Or is it that my brain just needs a break from stress?

  Last night was actually almost enjoyable, as morbid and horrible as that sounds.  It's like when you go to a cememtary - it's always peaceful there, so even though you're surrounded by dead people buried six feet under, it's nice and enjoyable.  That's kind of how I feel about my dream last night.  I would tell you guys about it, but I think I'm going to hold onto it for writing material later.  It was that interesting of a dream.

On a totally different note, today is Monday.  Monday, Monday, Monday.  I don't know how I feel about that.  Of course, I never know how I feel about Monday, so it doesn't really make much of a difference, if you catch my drift.

And this is where I'm going to leave you for this morning, my Cyberland Readers.  I promise to have my banned book list up at some point today.  Until then, though.

~Meaghan