I had another
disturbing dream last night. I was
falsely accused of killing a boy, but I had somehow managed to get away so I
was on the run, trying to find out who did kill him with the help of a couple
of people.
At some point I
went to a friend’s house, thinking I’d be safe there, but her kids called the
police because they were angry that their parents were getting a divorce. When I saw the police coming I begged my
friend to hide me in the attic, and to not let the police search the house—but
I felt terribly guilty about it.
At this point the
daughter felt badly about calling the police, so she and her friends were
trying to come up with a disguise to help me escape. The whole time I’m thinking, “They’re going
to catch me and put me in the electric chair—and I didn’t do it!” However, I was trying very hard to be nice
and understanding to the kids who turned me in, even as they kept mucking up my
chances for escape.
Then my brother
Steve showed up and I had to kiss him and act like I was glad to see
him...yuck. Anyway, I finally woke up,
and I was really freaked out. To fall
back asleep again, I “finished” the dream by imagining the police telling me
they’d found the right person, and they were just there to tell me I was no
longer a suspect.
Let’s just say I am
so ready for my appointment tomorrow.
I’ve still got to decide what to do about going to Minnesota over
Memorial Day weekend.
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