I spent what felt like much of last night dreaming about wandering through the church of another religion. I don’t know which one. All I know is that I was there to help them with their bookkeeping. I’d clearly helped them out before, as many of the people there seemed to know me and were glad to see me. And yet I couldn’t never seem to figure out who I was supposed to talk to about getting started. And, for some reason, it never occurred to me to ask. And so I wandered around and around. Fortunately this was a dream building that was never the same twice, so at least it didn’t get boring.
Oddly enough, I remember even this much. I don’t usually remember my dreams. Perhaps it’s just because it lasted so long, even through waking up once or twice–I’d fall back asleep again and be right back into it. Perhaps because it was because, in spite of it’s apparent meaninglessness and continual lack of progress, it still felt like a good dream and didn’t leave me more tired like meandering, drawn-out, plotless dreams tend to do.
In any case, my apologies. I’m only resorting to telling you about my dreams because I’ve got nothing else to talk about today. I had several posts begun, and even finished, but decided I just didn’t want to publish them. So you get this, instead. My sympathies.
Could have been worse. You could have spouted some Anita Sarkeesian at us.
Is that like Saurian Brandy?
No, much more harmful.
I often have to pray for dreams that won’t leave me anxious in the morning. Ironically, it’s often the most seemingly stressful dreams that leave me feeling good when I wake up. Catharsis or something.