I hate bad dreams. I’m talking about death dreams. Those are worse than my demonic possession dreams.
I can handle me dying in my dreams. I know I’m going to die some day. What I can’t handle is another loved one dying. I can handle evil clown dreams. Even tornado dreams. Anything but a loved one dying.
And, of course, I had to look up my dream meaning. I’m an idiot that way, you know. I’m going to go with fear of the next bereavement meaning, since I’ve been homesick for 9 years, and both of my parents have passed in that time frame.
This is why I don’t sleep well. I don’t want to dream. And it seems, lately, that every time I try to achieve nice dreams, it backfires on me.
Or maybe it’s because I’ve finally stopped having fevers, and my subconscious is playing a game of catch up. Fuck you, subconscious. I didn’t ask for that kind of trauma. I just want normal sleep, for once.
Now excuse me. I’m half tempted to start my day with a little something extra in my coffee.