I never have nightmares! What the heck? Perhaps this one was prompted by the sleep study questionnaire I filled out last night, which asked whether I ever had nightmares. Hm.
I was in Italy somewhere, I think it was supposed to be Rome, but parts of the city looked uncannily like Kishinev. In the place where I was staying (some friend’s?), Satan (a rather handsome chap in a black-and-red suit, sans horns) brutally killed and mutilated some truckers. One of the other girls in the apartment (women were the only live beings in it at that point) discovered them, and my best friend (who was there and immediately took charge) said we all had to clean it up. I felt terrible, but said I couldn’t look, because I’d have nightmares for a month or more. I was a coward even in a dream.
(That bit came from extensive perusal of our Netflix queue last night, in which I mentally noted some horror flicks, and also made a note to myself to not watch them. Because I’d have nightmares for a month. What is it with the month?)
Anyway, I left. Feeling bad, not to mention frightened, I had to get out of the city: there’d been another murder proximate to me, and I’d had enough. I get on a bus and get off a random stop, hoping to not run into anyone I know. And run straight into M*. Who looks uncannily like Bruce Campbell.
The alarm clock beeped (at 5am, and I was actually grateful for the early wake-up time), and I lay in bed rather unsettled for a while.
Now I go have breakfast with a woman whose name is the closest to mine, ever.
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*M is a person I’ve never met, whom I know through scholarly veins, and with whom I’ve had very strange interaction.
