I do have a reoccurring dream that doesn’t reoccur anymore.
Funny how that winds up to be the case.
It’s about snakes.
But that’s a story for another time.
I woke up this morning, with my shirt half way across the room.
I don’t recall doing it, but it must have been urgent as I thew it across the room.
It must have taken quite a bit of strength.
It must have been quite a bit of a dream.
I don’t like to sleep without a shirt, I fear I’ll get a cold.
A shirt after all is the last line of defence in keeping your body warm.
When I was younger, I drilled into my mind that I could wake up and end up in some godforsaken land, transported by some magical or powerful being.
“Movies will rot your brain” my father told me.
I wonder what sort of dream I must have had to compel me to take off my shirt.
Was I hot or on fire? Would having my shirt allowed demons to know my position and be able to follow me and capture me?
What if it was a beautiful summers day, and I was at the waterfalls. We’d just found a nice place to place our bags and sit down. We laugh, we smile, we talk and be joke. We take off our shoes and socks. We prepare to go for a swim. We hide our valuables, since it is not a safe time to be alive anymore, nor is it unsafe — we just have a lot of mistrust for one another, the cold war after affect I like to consider it. As we walk towards the water, I’m reminded of my shirt which without skipping a beat I roll off my body and throw in the general direction of our bags. Perfect landing! Agh! The water feels fine. Maybe. I don’t remember if it did.
That sounds nice though.
Not all occurrences have to happen for a bad reason.