For the first time since I've been retaining my dreams, I dreamt I was shot. I remember hearing in high school when peers had re-occurring dreams such as this and I couldn't fathom a dream, or nightmare, so dark. In my mind I classified them as really morbid individuals who found thrill in dreams such as those. But now, here I am...? I've never thought of myself as a goody-goody because I do have that pessimistic, cynical outlook at times but dying in a dream scared the crap out of me. I was walking down a path with my mom and a man in a dark trench coat who looked suspicious just up and pulled a gun on me for no reason. I stood in front of my mom in case he shot again... but my adrenaline was running but surprisingly accepting. I wasn't crying hysterically (which is perhaps unrealistic because neither was my mom and she definitely would have been haha) and I just kneeled over and died.
And then yesterday I got news of a classmate dying from lung disease. Its crazy how fragile life is no matter how invincible we feel and act in our lives and in our dreams.
In honor of celebrating life, I posted my reenactment of my car crash wound... when I was lucky to have even survived.
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