For lack of a better word, my subconscious is a bit of a tease. It provides me regularly with vivid dreams, including one I remember from last month, when, during a slow zombie invasion of the island I lived on, the most terrifying creature by far - the one that jolted me out of sleep and made me jump back in my bed, gasping - was a squirrel. Incidentally, not a zombie squirrel. Just a regular one. But even a normal squirrel will get angry if you poke it with a stick to try and ascertain its zombic nature. And then jump at you.
However, upon learning that I needed a dream to report for class, it refused to provide me with any. At least, any worth reporting.
Then I got sick, and that changed everything. Over the course of sleeping most of the weekend, I had a multitude of dreams.
During one, for instance, my boyfriend and I were picnicking on the shore of a lake. He was eating a roast beef sandwich, and I had a cheese-and-tomato one (I only eat meat on rare occasions). I was wearing a light blue sundress. We heard a rumble in the forest behind us, and, turning, saw a whole stampede of mythical creatures coming toward us - dryads, naiads, centaurs, nagas, fauns, griffins, dragons, all those lovely beasts. The creatures parted to run around us and our blanket and disappeared, one by one, into the depths of the lake. Suddenly, we were transported to the top of a hill, at night, under a blanket of stars.
Others were as mundane as shopping with my mother and not being able to find a pair of jeans that fit quite right.
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