Oof, whatta night.

My sleep cycles continue to be royally messed up.

Had nightmare after nightmare last night. I even cried out once, bringing Matthew rushing up to me to see if I was okay. And I remember many of them. I think I’d rather be dreaming of Geong Si Chinese zombies.

I’m not a big proponent of either Freud of Jung, but I also tend to believe that sometimes dreams are a good indicator of a psyche’s general state of being. For quite a long time, I didn’t dream, or I dreamed infrequently, and the dreams were pretty innocuous–surreal, Dada-esque settings and situations that were interesting but not all that troublesome, or the occasional bad dream, the roots of which were crystalline clear. Wasn’t undergoing much stressful at that time. Generally, things were pretty unexciting in waking and sleep.

This last bout of dreams were all about fear of going back. I dreamed I found out I had to return to my middle school (middle school of all things!) to finish two more hours that were listed as “incomplete.” No matter how much I protested that I’d graduated from college, had a fucking Master’s degree and everything, they still made me sit in that hell pit with some of the same evil cretins that populated it then. And then I was living back in my mother’s house. Or Matthew and I were living back in our old apartment in the Midwest. Etc. ad nauseum.

The theme was pretty consistent. Obviously I’m having some concerns about my future and I’m experiencing fears that I might be forced to go backward, and it scares me.

Great. So I’m not under enough stress during my waking hours, my subconscious wants to get involved?

So I’m awake and feeling not-terribly-rested. And unsettled. Stupid brain.

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