It was the kind of dream that I could feel. It was real.
I was sentenced to my death by someone [ can’t remember who, why, nothing].
The process of my dying meant that
I would throw up in a white plastic garbage bin until all of my innards were puked out. Then I would grow tired, fall asleep, and never wake up.
I did throw up, tons (in the dream).
Someone (cloudy in memory) nursed me during all this puking, so
I wasn’t alone.
One of my dogs was there. Cloudy.
I fought to stay awake, though I could see my innards filling the garbage bin.
“I am close to the end”
Sleepy. Oh no.
I thought about my life, what I didn’t do, what I thought was important, what I was afraid to go for and take… I wanted to go back in time and get it done. To fear less.
I fought the sleep hard. harder.
all through the night ➧ barfing and lifting my lids with all my strength to avoid succumbing to the sleep.
I was awake.
I didn’t die.
The ( whomever person who pronounced my death sentence) had told me there was no way I’d make it to morning.
But, I did.
I woke up ( in real life) and smiled all frickn day.
I’m alive! I’m alive. I love this place! I love myself. I love, love, love dammit.