And they might have froze before that noose got to them

[sovay]

All night I dreamed about dying. Every time—I was shot once, bleeding out; another time, I had some kind of wasting illness—I woke up instead of never opening my eyes again, but whenever I fell back into the dream, there was a different death to go through. Some of the circumstances, waterspouts, unmoored islands, shell-like crusts of uninhabited buildings in the middle of cities where I've lived, might have made intriguing story material if I hadn't been distracted by the endless iterations of mortality, none of them opera-clean. Today fails auspices.

Comments

[sovay]

Any idea what triggered the dreams?

No idea. The last thing I'd been reading before bed was Emily of New Moon and mostly remembering how much the dialect and deliberate misspelling annoys me, which I always forget when thinking about the book. But it's not particularly fatal!

but then, is the thought of sea creatures ever anything but bliss to you? Here's to dreams that will allow rejuvenating sleep.

Thank you.