Dreamweaver

I've had strange dreams regularly for most of my adult life. They tend to intensify during stressful or particularly emotional times, but they're always there. Here are a couple bits from dreams I had this past week...

Saturday night: The world was in an apocalyptic state. Luis and I were living among the other refugees in filthy tunnels underneath the remains of cities. The survivors were trying to resume as normal a life as possible, but everything was in shambles; life was disgustingly dark and murky. Martha Stewart was there, and she was trying to show us how to make a delightful dinner out of these bilious green and yellow braids of an algae-like growth clinging to the ceilings of the caves we inhabited.

Monday night: I was visiting some people who lived in a small decrepit house out in the wilderness. The house had clearly been nice at one time, but had gone to seed over the years. Dirt and large clods of earth were scattered on the linoleum, and the paint was peeling away from the walls to reveal rotted and crumbling plaster. A scratching sound came at the back door and the man went to open it, saying it was their cat wanting to be let in. A large orange cat leapt in through the door and the man began yelling that it wasn't their cat, it was a killer jackalope. I ran to the bathroom and tried to shut the door, but the large cat pushed its way through. I quickly caught the animal by the neck and began choking it, and the man yelled that he was going after his shotgun. As I was choking the cat I looked at him - he didn't look like a killer. He looked like a friendly creature. I didn't dare release my hold on him, though, lest he try to eat me. I could see the fear in his eyes as I choked the life out of him. Just then the man burst in with his shotgun, and he made me hold the animal as he shot it in the head.

What the hell is wrong with me?