and she said.. "how you interpret the dream is probably more important than the dream itself"

Last week was the week of sleep attempts. I say attempts because I didn't do much actual sleeping.. But I did get myself to bed at reasonable hours and gave myself a reasonably long amount of time to attempt to sleep.

I just didn't sleep.

Somehow I am doomed to lie awake all night if and when I try to get into the sack early. My body squarely rejects such suggests of rest, it seems, as a lame excuse for ignoring life and the wheels and belts in my brain continue to whir and spin into the wee morning hours. The upside to all of this is fairly lucid dreams. I am, by nature, a dreamless wonder but if I manage to remain in a semi-sleep/semi-awake state of daydreaming, I can pump out some beautifully colourful music.

Last night [in my dream] I was back home at the parents house. I had gads of weed - pounds of it even - and for no other reason than the fact that it was worth a lot of money, I felt I needed to protect it. It's blurry now, but I think the neighbours tipped off the fuzz and I headed for the hills; running through the woods in a panic. They sent dogs after me. Dogs! Like I was a criminal or something. I ran willy-nilly into a barn and somehow got back to the house, back up into the attic to recover my stash, and I made it out the back just as the cops were ringing the doorbell. I snuck over to the neighbours and knocked quietly on the door. My neighbour, who has sinced moved, was a grade below me and her dad was some sort of government worker. I don't know why but in my panic-stricken state I just knew he would be sympathetic to my situation so when he came to the door I breathlessly explained the situation and pushed the sack of pot into his hands. He understood fully before I had even finished and he hid away my stash and sent me off to the police, empty handed and un-indictable.