Ever since I can remember, I've had a strange relationship with my dreams.
Like most people, I forget most of the ones I have. Unlike most people, though, the ones I remember wind up coming true and become a deja vu. I don't know what the dream/reality ratio is, but it's always been higher for me than others. That's why I'm a little nervous...
The last two nights have treated me to some of the worst dreams I think I've ever had. (Well, aside from the one where I killed Dirk Nowitzki for some reason and then was on the run the rest of the time.)
I won't get into the details, but the first involved great injury to one of my best friends. The other had to do with an infestation the likes of which would have paled Arachnophobia to a minor spider problem.
I pray neither happens. There would be no joy in Muddville for sure.
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