Initially, this entry was about dreams, but most of my dreams are neither terribly interesting nor helpful. My nightmares are usually both.  Granted, I do not look forward to having nightmares, but I often learn something about myself from them.  Sometimes I don’t learn that something until I have related the plot and characters to my beloved, who is exceptionally good at sifting through my subconscious.

Most recently, I had a nightmare that meshed coworkers from several different workplaces, a near-accident involving 3 small children playing in the road, and an old friend of mine who didn’t recognize me.  In each chapter of the nightmare, I tried to convince someone of my identity, of my place in the world, or of my story.  In each chapter, I failed.

My least favorite recurring nightmare is something I call “Vanilla Sky” because I “wake up” (while still dreaming) to find that my current life is not my life, but rather some elaborate delusion.  I don’t learn anything about myself from that nightmare except that the movie creeped me out on a soul level.

(This entry is part of one month of gratitude.)