Screaming Myself Awake

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I remember being in my grandmother’s home. I was younger, and I was staying in one of the bedrooms upstairs. It was dark, and I don’t know why but something inside me told me to scream. It was a bloodcurdling shriek, and suddenly I was terrified where I wasn’t before – I was screaming to scream, and I knew it. Things got even scarier when no one came to check on me, and that’s when I woke up from the nightmare.

I haven’t been back to sleep or even tired since, and I still can’t get the images out of my head. That was six hours ago.

It’s been a chill kind of morning, though, with not much happening outside of my Facebook addiction (I can quit any time I want). We’re having chili tomorrow night and we’ve thawed a pound of ground venison to go with the ground chuck for it. New recipe to us, sounds tasty and pretty simple. Today’s big goal is to continue to hardwire the poem in my head for next weekend.

That is, until the nap fairy visits later, which I’m certain will happen.

Having a nice quiet day after such a bizarre nightmare isn’t going to be a bad idea, I don’t think. Not much adulting planned for the day, I’m afraid.

And just this once, I’m okay with that.

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