I had another one of my dreams again. But this time it didn't end with me in hell. I just died, or felt like I was about to. And I was scared. Usually what terrifies me about these dreams isn't the fact that I'm dying, it's that I'm going to hell. That's progress at least, right?
I see these dreams as visions, of things to come, if I don't change something in my life, premonitions if you will, that end in my inevitable end. The weirdest thing was that I called out to my mom this time. Then I woke up and sent her a text message letting her know I miss her. Then she called me on the secular phone.
Then I felt better. I miss someone, and it wasn't who I thought it was going to be. I should've told her about my dream when she called. Told her that even in my dreams, when I'm at the end of my rope and have already called out to God for help, I'll still call her; still cry out for mommy. And you know what? I'm totally OK with that. Momma's boy title and all.
I'm starting to think now that all these dreams are caused by alcohol but they're not.
OK, enough rambling. Amarok is kicking me hard again. Oh, and shower.
