As a matter of fact, the wheels have stopped
I dreamed, last night - well, this morning, because it was past 8am when I finally got to sleep. The weird thing was that the dream itself wasn't anything particularly traumatic or unusual. It's a recurring dream of mine, in fact - I had moved into this new place with Mike, and we were settling in. Mike is always in these dreams, though he often doesn't actually appear.
The place we'd moved into was like - a set of rooms in a communal house or something, and they were arranged so that other people living there were continually having to come through our new living space to get to where they were going. This also happens every time, which makes me think my brain is telling me something, though I'm buggered if I know what. I secretly want to have strangers trooping through my bedroom on their way to the kitchen? I DON'T KNOW.
Anyway, the point of the dream, the thing that made me wake up crying (and I haven't stopped yet) is that John was supposed to be there. Only he wasn't, because he's dead. This isn't exactly news. He's been dead for ten years - it was the anniversary on Saturday, I just didn't want to talk about it then. In the dream, I was ...casting runes or something, flat white stones with white symbols on them, sitting on a bedroll/mattress sort of thing on a white carpeted floor picking up these white stones and putting them down again, and understanding that there was no point to it at all. No point casting those stones, no point reading the symbols, no point in moving to a new place or ever doing anything again, because he should have been there but instead he was dead.
So, yeah, that's been my day.
The place we'd moved into was like - a set of rooms in a communal house or something, and they were arranged so that other people living there were continually having to come through our new living space to get to where they were going. This also happens every time, which makes me think my brain is telling me something, though I'm buggered if I know what. I secretly want to have strangers trooping through my bedroom on their way to the kitchen? I DON'T KNOW.
Anyway, the point of the dream, the thing that made me wake up crying (and I haven't stopped yet) is that John was supposed to be there. Only he wasn't, because he's dead. This isn't exactly news. He's been dead for ten years - it was the anniversary on Saturday, I just didn't want to talk about it then. In the dream, I was ...casting runes or something, flat white stones with white symbols on them, sitting on a bedroll/mattress sort of thing on a white carpeted floor picking up these white stones and putting them down again, and understanding that there was no point to it at all. No point casting those stones, no point reading the symbols, no point in moving to a new place or ever doing anything again, because he should have been there but instead he was dead.
So, yeah, that's been my day.