Well that just didn’t happen

This morning I had a particularly disturbing, not-so-lucid dream. I say not-so-lucid, because I was in no way in control of events, but the quality and depth of experience was on par with those that I can. But as dream logic does, things kept shifting around, rearranging elements according to a semi-conscious design.

Basically, a bad thing happened, once upon a time. An unconnected person arrived and was pretty sure they knew what that bad thing was, then revealed they had been specifically contacted by someone that wanted to lay the bad thing at my feet. I may or may not have been responsible for this bad thing. Understandably the details are vague, and even with full recall of the dream, I’m not sure whether or not I “did it.”

So much so that on awakening for real, I had to google something to make sure.

What’s worse, this was a reccurent dream, so I’d sleep for a while, wake up in place, sleep again, wake up, etc. Each time the details and “facts” changed, but the icky remained. And to complicate matters, in each near-sleep wakening, I was working out plot details for my serial killer story.

How messed up is that?

This level of dream usually gets turned into a story idea. but now I’m likely to walk around feeling guilty for something that not only never happened, but that I myself did not do. I’m fairly certain I know why this dream came up, and I’ll be beating that hobgoblin into submission at some point soon. But the looming dread I can do without.

So writers, when someone asks you where you get your ideas, you can now tell them the cautionary tale of The Very Bad Thing. And go back to bed…if you dare.

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