I remember a time when sleeping used to mean rest. These days I have come to associate it with an almost never-ending series of images without obvious meaning. It would be fun to sit down and analyze them all except for the fact that I do not believe they are anything more than random neural firings being interpreted by a part of my brain that has a tendency to operate on a much more abstract level than I usually think about. And only being interpreted at all because energy cannot simply disappear and a building e- charge in the brain has a tendency to cause massive traumatic damage and/or death. See also: Old Sparky. Well, after having small breaks in between dreams to sit and mull over whether or not I should continue to write about the more interesting experiences, I decided that there’s no better way to kill an hour before going to bury someone. For those of you who were a little worried by that last statement, I work at a funeral home. Well, here we go.
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I am in a familiar place.actually I am in the very room in which I sleep. As to be expected, some things have changed. The dimensions of course are off, and that is something that happens in the unused passages.muscles must be exercised in order to be refined for use. Someone else is living there with me.but it shouldn’t be the person it is. She.I know her from Thursday.is not any type of girlfriend, she is just a roommate and I am confused by this. She comments on my bedding and my need to keep it cleaner than I do. I agree and acknowledge the present time.it is the same. Cory comes aver and she leaves. He also comments on the bedding.damn people give me a break.and also on the basket of laundry she left on the floor. There are interesting articles of clothing in there. I pick one up and remember being somewhat amused at the collection that she had.
I am alone in the room. Curtains hang in the middle of it.