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Saturday, June 3, 2017
I woke up today suddenly from a nightmare. It has left me rather shaken, feeling antsy and nervous. I am too wound up to go back to sleep, or to even try for that matter. Yesterday, I got a letter in the mail from a dear high school friend I haven't seen since we graduated together in 2015. I spent a bulk of my afternoon and evening replying by hand. I ended up with twenty-two notebook pages splattered with my thoughts, feelings, experiences, hopes, and dreams. I wrote well, and I wrote honestly.
When I finally fell asleep on the couch in the midst of a crime documentary, I dreamt of my high school friend showing up states away at my apartment door and shaming me for what I had written, for the soul I spilled on the pages of my currently unsent mail. In this nightmare world, he was stronger than ever and much bigger than me. I felt a distinct fear that came through to me even after I opened my eyes to find I was safe. I was brutally murdered by a once close friend in my night terror, and it hurt me even after it was over. Not physically, of course, but mentally and emotionally. I keep thinking about it though I try hard not to. The dream has almost discouraged me from sending out the reply I have so dutifully and deliberately written.
Of course, that's silly, right? It was just a heap of my own subconscious insecurities falling into my sleep, I suppose.
So, here I sit, curled up on my couch with a cup of hot, comforting tea at my side on the end table and my laptop taking up the empty space across my legs. I am trying my best to put the horrible dream behind me and begin my day on my own terms; television and tea.
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