Oh, come on.
I had not one, but THREE bizarre dreams of horror-movie dimension. The first was terrible. There was a slaughter-machine-wielding maniac attacking my family and I actually shot him...a few times. Only at the end of the dream it was decided that I had shot the wrong person. ARGH GUILT, even in my dreams. We laid my still-alive victim in a bedroom while we decided what to do with his bleeding self.
What the hell was I doing with a gun anyway? And why didn't I am straight for the face?
The second dream involved a zeppelin crashing into some buildings, a subsequent attempt by me to get my nephew safe out of a nearly destroyed building, and much general distress. The third featured me riding my bike to the local fair dressed in a giant pink frou frou gown. I eventually had to leave because there was a riot.
I don't see how any of this means anything WHATSOEVER. I am at a loss and usually wake up these days with a confused look on my face.
Better than waking up screaming, but still...
What the hell was I doing with a gun anyway? And why didn't I am straight for the face?
The second dream involved a zeppelin crashing into some buildings, a subsequent attempt by me to get my nephew safe out of a nearly destroyed building, and much general distress. The third featured me riding my bike to the local fair dressed in a giant pink frou frou gown. I eventually had to leave because there was a riot.
I don't see how any of this means anything WHATSOEVER. I am at a loss and usually wake up these days with a confused look on my face.
Better than waking up screaming, but still...