“The dreams in which I’m dying are the best I’ve ever had”
--Tears For Fears
A sentiment I’ve always related too, albeit it a slanted comparison. I dreamed my sister died last night. As far as my dreams go it was fairly lucid. I didn’t have control or anything, I just remembered a bit more than usual. There were no monsters or parasites or bizarro manifestations of real life counterparts. Nope. The house was the house. People were people. No Lynchian symbolism. No dream logic. Quite simply, her dumb ass finally died in a shower (I was told about this, I didn’t see it unfold) a culmination of years of drug use, drinking, bad eating habits etc. In the dream I was relieved to hear she was finally dead. People could get on with their lives. Everyone was free from her emotional abuse, her callous disregard for others, her valley-girl babykicking horseshit, and her lies. There was a sense of freedom.
Part of me was aware this was a dream, but like I said, I lacked the ability to manipulate events. When I woke up, I was disappointed—still alive, sigh. And I’m not ashamed in the least. It was one of my better R.E.M. experiences, I don’t sleep well as a rule, remembered dream or not. Death, though, seems to stimulate better R.E.M. experiences for me. I remember, years ago, dreaming the death of my best friend, and waking up refreshed. It was off putting for me, but it didn’t change the fact that I slept well. This latest dream seems to establish a pattern.
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