In Which My Tenuous Grasp On Reality Further Weakens
I think it's finally happened. I am no longer confidently able to tell apart dreams and reality.
Mostly it's not the actual dreams that are a problem, but memories in dreams are. I can't tell if they're real memories, or memories of other dreams (some from a very long time ago), or memories of whatever avatar I'm inhabiting within the dream itself.
Should I be worried?
Well, I'm not, because I took a long nap and dreamed about going to a boarding school and meeting Charles Darwin, who was completely adorable, and becoming a British MP. And wearing goofy hats and wacky hijinx and forbidden love and I'm fairly certain there was actual elaborate plot as well, but that's gotten a bit fuzzy.
And the night before that it was forbidden magic and climbing mountains for coming-of-age rites, which segued into Victorian children and clockwork device for projecting stock market trends, which was, for some reason, absolutely hilarious.
Mostly it's not the actual dreams that are a problem, but memories in dreams are. I can't tell if they're real memories, or memories of other dreams (some from a very long time ago), or memories of whatever avatar I'm inhabiting within the dream itself.
Should I be worried?
Well, I'm not, because I took a long nap and dreamed about going to a boarding school and meeting Charles Darwin, who was completely adorable, and becoming a British MP. And wearing goofy hats and wacky hijinx and forbidden love and I'm fairly certain there was actual elaborate plot as well, but that's gotten a bit fuzzy.
And the night before that it was forbidden magic and climbing mountains for coming-of-age rites, which segued into Victorian children and clockwork device for projecting stock market trends, which was, for some reason, absolutely hilarious.