Almost every day I journal for myself. Sometimes I like to share them. This is one of those cases. This post is not particularly pleasant, but I think has something worth sharing contained in it.
I have been having worsening nightmares lately. I dream of assassinations, pursuits, and heartbreak. I awaken to find my cheeks wet with tears.
I don’t know from where these dreams have come, but I do not care.
I don’t want them any longer.
I rarely dream and when I do it is rarely pleasant. To have dreams several nights in a row is an unexpected, unpleasant, and strange to me.
I wake up groggy and confused. My REM cycle interrupted by sunlight, loved ones, or panic.
Shaking off the last vestiges of whatever fear mongering abscess of my own psyche linger, I pour water and place grounds into the coffee maker.
I wait hearing the steam burst into the air.
I still do not understand myself.