I don't know if I have a cold or if I'm suffering from allergies. It's not very severe and I'm functional which makes me think this is simply an intense allergy season for me. Funny because I don't recall having allergies like this.
My theory is that stress is weakening my immune system and making me susceptible to stuff that simply gave me runny noses or stuffy heads in the past.
First there was a strange scenario which is half-remembered. I was an anthropomorphic dandelion who was charged with managing four gardens which provided food for everyone. Something came out of the sky, wiped them out and left everyone to starve. I was the last one to starve.
A weird interlude with bright, swirling colors.
The meat of last night's dreams is much more involved and better remembered. I have yet to figure out if this is a good thing or a bad thing considering the 'popularity' of the oneiromancy feature.
I saw myself standing on a boat at night from the vantage point of something flying overhead. The boat was quite long and very upscale with its passengers and amenities. In short time both points of view were merged and had me leaning over the railing watching the dark water flowing past the hull. Looking up I saw that the boat was approaching a strange island. Twisted towers of sand which would put most of the wind-carved monuments in Utah to shame with this island's configuration and imagination in execution of the towers. Each was tipped with a gaping black hole which drooled sand creating smaller towers which would take the place of the parent.
As the boat neared our destination everyone started running to the bow for a better look but I kept my position on starboard. A figure was striding across the surface of the ocean. A tall, lean figure wearing a broad brimmed hat and a tattered duster. The figure was oblivious to the yacht sailing through the night but I felt that I had doomed myself and the boat by noticing the Saint of Killers.
Saint of Killers is a man whose hate was so strong that he made hell freeze over. He killed God. Unfazed by the detonation of a nuclear device in Monument Valley. A real bad ass.
Slowly I made my way down into the ship hoping to avoid what I deemed to be inevitable when I bumped into someone. I looked up and saw the familiar, weathered and gaunt face looking down at me through black goggles. And he was smiling.
He pushed the goggles down and I saw that the smile was genuine. Once he had God's blood on his hands, or his Colt revolvers, he started to lighten up and realize the world wasn't such a bad place and the death of God only served to make it better. What he said next floored me, "I've always wanted to be a puppy."
Seconds later there was a beagle puppy panting at me where the Saint of Killers once stood. The pup leapt over my shoulder, grabbed a few hanging ropes from the moorings and began joyfully flinging himself through the air.
