A while back I had a dream. And it was a remarkable one. You know how you hear stories about how if you die in your own dream that you do actually and truly die (or is it just me that hears those stories AND THEN believes them?).
Well, I had one of those death dreams. Obviously though, it did not kill me, which is a good thing for Dave because he and I are both well aware of the fact that I plan to rise up from my grave and haunt and torment him. It's also a good thing because I still haven't come to peace with a decision about cremation or burial. I'm afraid of fire, but I'm also prone to claustrophobia. Granted I'll be dead, but I'm still petrified that I'll still feel burned alive or trapped in a box and unable to breathe. (I know. I have issues.)
In my dream I decided I would jump off a bridge in order to die. I don't remember feeling suicidal or despondent in the dream (or in real life), though suicide is obviously the reason one would jump, but dreams often don't make sense, so let's just go with it.
So I decided to jump off a bridge and reckoned that I would die immediately upon landing. I even had the thought that I would pass out on the way down, so this would be a painless way to die. Boy was I wrong.
First of all, I did not pass out.
Second of all, when I landed, I writhed around on the ground screaming over and over, "Ow! It hurts! I thought I'd be dead!"
Third, I did finally die, but peace was not achieved.
Once I died I was in a red sky, falling down (was I going to hell?) and there were muppets and Elmo all around me singing, "la la la la. la la la la. Elmo's Worlddddd. La la la la. La la la la. Elmo's world...."
I remember waking up that morning and thinking, "God. I'm never going to get a break -- EVER!"