we have just emerged from a hazy, drawn-out process of waking, the final scene from last night’s dexter floating throughout our demi-consciousness. a bloodbath somehow managing to find relevant narrative to insert itself throughout 65 minutes of pressing snooze. how macabre, even for monday.
come to think, it’s been quite a long while since we dreamed of something we were actually reluctant to wake from, other worldly imaginations of shopping our way through bendels or getting a taste of our yummiest client interrupted now by dreams of stress, rote repetition of to-dos and now (evidently) mass murder.
we wonder if the whole thing is directly related to the fact that our brain has rarely felt more fatigued, the required rest, repair and creativity obviously not going down during our shut-eye. the logical next step is obviously the beach. non?