Sometimes I put myself under an enormous amount of pressure to succeed. It’s a good trait to have, but the stale sense of doom that whips it into motion can be oppressive.
Lately I’ve been dreaming of, you guessed it, dead ends. The sort that keep sleeping-me confused in blobby dark places and waking-me feeling like I haven’t taken a breath in minutes. The imagery I can gather from my journals is a bit gruesome:
I remember sitting in a barber’s chair getting a haircut by a large foreign man. I was distressed because I knew I had already received a haircut recently and didn’t want him to botch it. He told me I had to stay for the shave but I complained I had no time, there was work to be done. I left only to be chased through a dark mall by zombies. Circling around the building, I found myself at the barber again just in time to see him use his blade to cut the scalp off his next customer. I was validated in my earlier fears, but also resigned to my doom to zombies and apparently Sweeney Todd.
For the most part I’m struggling to remember the fine details of these dead-end dreams. It’s frustrating to know how self-perpetuating these kinds of dreams can be. But I’ll be out of this dreary period soon. Earlier today I had a dream with vibrant color and if that’s not a blessed sign I don’t know what is.
It can be hard for me to post in this blog when I’m not recalling my dreams as well. However, I fully intend to be the pondering hub for all your wiggly dream things. I’d like to thank my small community of followers, every ‘like’ and ‘view’ encourages me incredibly.
Dream on little dreamers,