Tousled dreams

It was hot last night. Like in swelteringly, unpleasantly, stickily hot. I have this clever fan that works on a timer, because normally I get cold after a bit. Last night, however, every time the thing went off I woke up feeling like a muffin in an oven. Seriously. And I had one of those killer mosquitoes. Which bit me just where I can’t reach to scratch. Bastard.

And it was full moon.

Boy, did I dream. First of being in a plane crash. We took off, and as we lifted into the sky, I heard the engines splutter and fade. Out of my window I watched as the land came hurtling toward us, panic rising. I think the fan switched off at that point because either I woke, or the rest is lost in the sands of sleep.

Then my recurring one. But with a twist. I was with a whole lot of friends and people I love who were all being mean to me in a very luxurious hotel at the seaside full of lifts and escalators. They were all being mean to me. Until I ran away. Then a bit of a blurry bit, until I was running along a coastal dust road, trying to get back to them. First I kept running too fast, and missing the entrance, then when I got in, I couldn’t get to my family, I was too tired, and my legs weren’t obeying me (the recurring bit). It was horrible, and I woke up filled with anxiety. Ugh.

Twenty+ degree nights, paired with the full, silvery moon (as pretty as she is in her finery) are not good for my psyche apparently.

I’m fun today, aren’t I?