My best friend's dad fancied himself a writer. He was a stay at home dad (I won't get into the stories, they're not mine to tell) who wrote poems, one which was about "sleep,that tiny rehearsal of death." Wow, way to turn a totally relaxing and rejuvenating activity into something inescapable and permanent. His poems were dark, with mysterious things cloaked in darky darkness. To this day we joke about saying good night to each other and then "Okay, I'm gonna go rehearse for death now!" We like our humor black, no sugar, no cream.
So imagine how I felt when I had a dream that I DIED. Rehearsal indeed! It went like this: I was very sick (I don't know if it was a "long illness" or a "short illness" but apparently it was a fatal illness). I lived in a brownstone in what I assume is New York (I went out on an urban note, I guess). One moment I was sick and dying my little heart out in the bed and the next, roaming that apartment as a ghost. Some people saw me. Some communicated with me. This went on for a few days* until I started to get bored. What fun is the world if you aren't really relevant anymore? I saw a car accident outside of the window, heard lots of city noises (sirens, shouting, and whatnot) and decided I had enough and I was ready to leave the earth. Thinking about what comes next terrifies me in real life, but in the dream it was not a big deal. Just "Eh, I'm tired of this. Buh-bye." I was at peace and accepting of what was happening, and at the time it felt real.
And then I woke up.
*Not really, but you know time works a little differently in dreams--didn't you see Inception?
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