On Weird Dreams and the (In)Significance Of

Can't sleep. That shouldn't surprise you, it certainly doesn't surprise me. Its 4 AM and immediately I am annoyed that my spell-checker doesn't insert a ' in between the n and the t of contractions. That means every time i type one, I have to manually insert it or look at the hideous red squiggle. It becomes a nuisance. Anyhow, it's no longer 4 AM. The clocks never cease their endless cycle, and my blogging is no exception to it. I arose, began to type, took a bathroom break, and lay back down in hopes of reaching sleep. I apparently did, and 5 hours and 15 minutes later I have returned.

I had a strange dream last night, post attempted blog I think. It involved me being held captive, my unknown captor wielding a large blade. The androgynous being had bound me to a chair in a windowless container, although I can't recall what specifically bound me there; rope, chain,  or fear. In any event, my captor taunted me ruthlessly with the blade, caressing my face like a lover would and only drawing enough blood to remind me it was indeed a knife and not a finger. I'm not sure how long this macabre affair lasted, but it ended when in two effortless swipes, both of my ears were severed. Apparently gravity had no say in dreamland, because they floated in space. Blood poured out into the air instead of down, and my captor and the room slowly dissolved. I was back in my room, it was 9 Am, my sheets were a mess, and my mother was mumbling something about a computer virus. I told you I have whack ass dreams.

Now for interpretation....is it even worth interpreting? Perhaps I'm destined to hear something that I don't want to hear; is it time to face to music? Still yet, maybe the sexless captor is my desire, trapping me and taunting me until I give in and feed it? It probably doesn't mean anything. It's most likely an overactive brain keeping itself busy by pulling random images and thoughts together in a weird mosaic of REM activity. I studied Van Gogh briefly in Art class, and he had his whole 'ear thing' so maybe that was my subconscious trying to imitate one of the greats. Imitation is flattery so they say. And speaking of feeding desire, I am reminded of a poem I read in a counselors office at school. It involved an Indian elder consulting a child on human nature. He said there are two wolves in each of us, a good wolf and an evil wolf. Both are hungry and demand constant attention. And the child asks, which wolf gets bigger? The elder wisely replies "whichever one you feed." I thought that was deviously twisted, and asked myself which wolf do you feed?? The only answer I, or perhaps the wolves, could come up with was "whichever one is hungry."