Uncanny Dreams.

 I woke to the sound of my window leaking today. I’ve been having the oddest of dreams recently. On the contrary, I do find myself enjoying bizarre dreams. One is where a young girl is trapped in a glitching windows ten kinda world, and another is a dystopian world in which the oceans are separated into sections and there are no more fish. Even my recurring nightmare, when I am chased down a grungy room with a single light on a string. These dreams fill me with inspiration and curiosity. A drive to write some of them down into a collection of weird stories, much like Ray Bradbury. Maybe that is where he found his muse at times. And yet the dreams I had last night and the past leading weeks are not the kind I enjoy. They seem to be real as if they are events that can conspire. In these dreams, I find myself out of control, as if my reactions are not in my wheelhouse or the events I was in were not me. Instead of random characters, they are real people in my life, put into disarray by my actions. The message from them and the emotions they place in me are beginning to repeat. It is telling me I’m stagnant, settling into ways that will not benefit me.