I’ve always had a fascination with dreams.  Even the ones Fleetwood Mac sing about.  Perhaps it stemmed from the 4th grade when Sarah and I had to do a report on something and we chose REM, as in rapid eye movement sleep, not the band.  My Mom drove us to some old school ladies salon/hair care product store in North Austin, because it was the only one in town that sold the styrofoam heads that you can display wigs on.  Using our artistic abilities, we cut out a chunk of the back of the head and with play-dough, we constructed a little scene of someone shopping the produce aisle of a grocery store.  Pretty lame dream, I know.  I think we were trying to exemplify that people often have very basic, everyday like dreams.

The one I had last night was so not ordinary.  Maybe for Ted Bundy, but not for myself.  I dreamed that some mass murderer attacked my sorority house, while I was across the street watching.  The other people with me rushed across the street to the sorority house to help save our sisters, but I dilly-dallied around where I was because… hello, they were killing people over there!  I woke up this morning feeling extremely guilty for not putting myself in danger and also because I thought our old president (not you, Robyn) had died. 

Then, this afternoon I was telling my coworker about my crazy dream and her response was, “Oh my gosh!  How bizarre!  And just after you had that other dream recently where your guy friend was killing people”.  I had completely forgotten that one. 

All of my good friends were living on the same street (like Wisteria Lane in Desperate Housewives) and I was the only one that knew that Jay was killing people and burying them under his house.  I kept thinking, “How does Suz not know that Jay is a murderer?  Should I tell her?”.  But, I was too scared to say anything because I thought I’d get in trouble for knowing all along.  And I started to sweat BIG TIME when Margaret and John had been missing for a month and everyone kept asking about where they were.  Well, I knew…

Yeah, extremely sick and twisted dreams.  I used to think I should keep a journal of my dreams, but I’m a little too scared to analyze these dreams I’m having lately.  And I should probably stop sharing them with people at work.  Not sure what they are starting to think of me.