one thing about me

If I wake up with the memory of a dream still in my head, it's often about Aliens. The egg-laying face-hugging double-jawed kind from the Alien movies. No, I'll be more specific: other dreams, the non-Aliens kind, are ones I remember. The ones with Aliens are dreams that I experience. And I hate them. Those creatures scare the crap out of me. Last night, at least, I had some kind of plasma weapon, and I could shoot at the damn things when they came around corners. But I usually missed.

Every so often, in the midst of one of my Aliens dreams, I cross over into lucidity for a moment and I think, I wish I could stop having this scary dream. I never think, hey, Aliens aren't real, I'm gonna kick one between the legs and see what happens! Of course, I know what happens in those situations: goodbye face. I prefer my dreams pre-1985, when I'd never seen an Alien film.

Before 1985 I dreamed about bears. They menaced me, chased me around a bit, and sometimes they fought with goats. That's what happens when you grow up in the middle of nowhere.