I dreamt of a cactus with thorns protecting beautiful shiny beads that were irrisistable to pop, but the venom inside was fatal.
I dreamt of an unwelcome worm in the house, so I tried to kill it by chopping it into thousands of tiny pieces which instead caused it to multiply into thousands of crawling worms.
I dreamt of a ball park in Louisiana that was filled American family fun inside, but outside the protected dome the surrounding land was crawling with guerrilla snipers, landmines, humanlike aliens who could only be sent away with bribes, and deadly spiders creeping out of every hole.
I dreamt of an old unfamiliar house that was supposed to be my own. It was an eerie pseudo recollection of a house from the fifties. My mothers voice, like a broken record, kept saying, �Put on your shoes.� The statement repeated over and over as if the memory itself was warped, occasionally finishing the sentence and going to the next, �You�re going to be late.� I went toward the bathroom to get ready, but a huge tarantula crept out the bathroom door as if it was following the scent of my blood.
In my last dream, the man I loved was an amalgamation of Aryeh, the guy I went to prom with who is now in Iraq, and Ethan Goldin, a fellow art history student I did a presentation with in my last semester of college who swore he wasn�t Jewish. The amalgamation came home with a nose job, and I hit the roof. I was so angry, I never wanted to see him again. When I finally forgave him, he had already vanished forever. I cried, screaming my apologies, screaming I love you into the still air, but it was too late.
12:26 p.m. - 2006-08-03