I've always considered myself lucky that I don't remember my nightmares. I'm sure I must have them, but I don't recall any of them when I wake up. A couple of nights ago, I recalled two dreams that were close to nightmares.

One had me sitting by my laptop, somebody else was reading something I had written. It may have been a blog entry or some kind of article. At any rate, it was for open audiences. This person began to criticize my writing style. They kept exclaiming how my style was too scholarly and could never be understood by anyone but my university professors. They went on like this for a while before ending by saying that I would never be able to write popular stories, that I would never write anything that could reach out to anyone.

The second had me eating a steak. In the waking world, I've been a vegetarian for nearly four years, but I still know what a good steak is. This was a strip steak, heavily seasoned and rare in the middle. I took one bite and felt sick. I tasted the blood in my mouth, the meat's enthusiastically applied seasonings crunching in my teeth. As I chewed, I felt myself growing more and more ill. I swooned a little, unable to enjoy the meal. All I could feel was disgust. Then I swallowed. It was like swallowing a stone or a massive wad of Play-Doh, just sinking straight to the pit of my stomach. I remember it sitting there--heavy, burdensome, thick--as I stared out into a luxurious restaurant.

Then I awoke.


when we first met, I didn't say a word