My dreams veer between acute realism and apocalyptic wastelands - an obvious, albeit depressing, metaphor for my perspective on life. Some nights, I dream that I'm in my own bedroom, eyes open in the dark, everything around me just as it should be...and then I glance upwards, and see a spider drifting down from the ceiling, legs extended towards my face.
Other nights, I'm walking down an office hallway when the building begins to crack, glass shattering in my face. I scurry down the side of a building to shelter beneath a support beam while the rest of the building comes down around me. Later, I find myself charged with shepherding a group of mystery children through the ruins of New York City.